In Another Life, In Another Time
by leafiephoenix
Summary: AU: Claire Petrelli is currently a Harvard Law School student. She moves into her boyfriend's apartment only to meet her eccentric, socially inept neighbor, Gabriel Gray. An unlikely friendship begins, but could it be the start of something more? Complete
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Okay, so this is something I've never done before. An AU Heroes fic, where no one has powers and Claire's a Petrelli, Gabriel Gray was this underappreciated, eccentric genius geek who did not become Sylar (yet?), and to top it all off, she has a blue-blooded English boyfriend (which was entirely my doing). Bear with me. And please do tell me if this fic is too...weird. Reviews are much appreciated and loved. Flames...not so much. Constructive criticism is awesome. _

_Well then, on with the story! :)  
_

* * *

Chapter 1

Gabriel stared at the girl standing in front of him unblinkingly, his face expressionless. He had never seen the girl in the flesh before, but she was all smiles and sweet with a sunny disposition. He postulated this, of course, from the way she extended her arm towards him for a handshake. It would be deemed rude if he did not reciprocate the action. Social normalcy had long constituted that he should do so.

His breath hitched when the skin contact happened. It was all he could do not to think of the number of bacteria colonies that would be transferred between them. More from her than him, obviously, when she had been carrying her suitcases that who knows had been where into apartment 6A. Where was the alcohol hand rub when he needed it most? His mind buzzed with all thoughts of needing to decontaminate.

"I'm Claire," her green eyes twinkled. "Ian talked a lot about you," she said when he finally pulled his hand away, unconsciously rubbing it against his striped sweater. If she noticed that he was uncomfortable with this exchange, she did not show it. Attempting a stab at conversing with a strikingly pretty young lady, Gabriel replied in one breath, "I know who you are. Claire Petrelli, the only daughter of Senator Nathan Petrelli. And while you have been Mr. Farquhar's classmate at the prestigious Harvard Law School, it appears to me that you are also going to be his housemate."

She did not feign her surprise. It wasn't so much in the way he'd said it; Ian had warned her that Gabriel would be bone-dry and humourless and especially blunt. It wasn't that he knew a lot about her father either – Nathan Petrelli was on the cover of Time just last month. No, it was how well-versed Gabriel was on one particular subject: herself.

Well, maybe Ian had told Gabriel about her, and perhaps he took it upon himself to Google her to elicit further information about his future neighbour. Even if that was true, no one remembers her past her father's name. She was forever bound to just be the blonde Petrelli girl.

"Wow. How did you know that?" her eyebrows arched quizzically.

Gabriel's grip on his messenger bag strap tightened. "Oh," he began, "I remember you from People magazine."

Claire stepped back and felt as if her head hit something hard. "Um, sorry?"

"You were in the November 2008 issue, remember? You were photographed at an after party of some awards show. I happened to flip through the reading material as I was having lunch because someone left it on the cafeteria table." His lips pursed in concentration as he tried to remember every detail. "And of course, your father was last month's Time cover. Such glaring facts are hard to miss, Miss Petrelli," he added solicitously.

Gabriel merely watched Claire's gaze widen as he explained the minute particulars of his discovery. She was surprised. He was used to it. Had he been twenty years younger, he would have had difficulties understanding what little human gestures and facial expressions meant. He would not brag that he was an expert now – far from it. At least his condition was not as challenging as when he was a child. Some of the snags were still there. He was still opposed to the idea of human skin contact. He preferred to be alone. He despised empty social chit-chat (which was what he was reduced to now, to his indignation). So why was he still waiting for her to say something, even when it was clear as day that he did not want to be trapped in this social awkwardness?

Hastily, he looked at his watch and realized that he was going to be late if he didn't make a move now. "Right, I've got to go," he spluttered before dashing down the stairs. Smacking his forehead, he ran back upstairs. Ma always told him to remember his manners, so he did. "Nice to meet you, Miss Petrelli," he almost shouted nervously, before she could even take a proper look at him. He strained his brain to say something else but failed.

She shook her head, trying to suppress her laughter. "Nice to meet you too, Gabriel," she quietly spoke to no one. "...and thanks," before twirling elegantly back into the apartment.

As he cycled his way to the MIT Artificial Intelligence Lab, Gabriel berated himself inwardly. "Shouldn't have returned her cellphone. Shouldn't have volunteered to carry her suitcase. Shouldn't have talked to her at all!"

Having nauseously friendly neighbours wasn't exactly what Gabriel had in mind when he opted to move to Massachusetts. And he still needed to wash his hands.

* * *

"Hi babes," Claire tiptoed and wrapped her arms around the neck of the tall, lean figure in front of her. She gave him a sly grin and waited for him to lower his lips to meet hers. They kissed sweetly, longingly, passionately. They had only been separated for a day yet the lovers' embrace implied that it might have better been centuries.

"I missed you Ian," she whispered, "so....much."

"Miss you too, Claire," came the obligatory reply that was decidedly British-accented. "I told you that I'd come and help you carry all these stuff. You don't have to do it yourself, you know," Ian pointed out. "What if you break your back?" he rebuked playfully.

"You could give me a free, full-body massage," she grinned.

Ian clicked his tongue. "You just gave me an evil idea. But," his gentle blue eyes searched for her coral green ones, "in all seriousness. You didn't carry all these by yourself, did you?"

"No," Claire plopped onto the sofa next to him. Her blonde locks fanned out and tickled his skin, tempting him to reach out and comb his fingers into the silken strands. He put an arm around her small yet curvaceous body, tracing the smooth skin down her elbow. "Your eccentric neighbour helped me," she continued, placing her head on his chest at the same time.

"Gabriel?" he yelped out in astonishment, causing Claire to jerk in reaction. Ian broke into an uncontrollable laughter. "Really?"

Claire tilted her head, her eyes narrowed. "Yeah, he did. Look, he wasn't as bad as I thought he would be. You worry too much."

"And I thought that he would be immune to your awesomeness," Ian surmised. Something might have lit up in his thoughts, for he suddenly sat up and gazed up at her curiously. "Tell me everything."

"Uh, okay," Claire began cautiously, "I guess he was off to work this morning. I was already in the apartment, and I realized that my cellphone was gone. I went downstairs and bumped into him in the stairwell, with him holding my cell like this," she held her phone using only the tips of her thumb and her index finger, "as if it's contagious," – to which Ian snorted and commented, "that's Gabriel for you," and she gave him an unimpressed look.

"Sorry," Ian raised his hands in the air. "Please, do continue..."

"I told him it's mine, but he kinda didn't believe me, so I cited my number so he could give me a miss-call."

"Whoa, hold on there, Claire. You gave your number to a complete stranger at this point?" Ian said in disbelief. "That's dangerous!"

"I could change my number anytime, don't worry. Besides, the first moment I lay my eyes on him, I knew that it was the infamous Gabriel Gray right away. You've told me too many things about him, there's no way I could miss it. Oh, and by the way, your description is spot on! Thick-rimmed glasses? Check. Striped grey-coloured sweater? Check. Tall and gangly? Check." She placed a gentle palm on his cheek. "Don't worry," she told him. Leaning forward to shower butterfly kisses on his forehead and nose, she moved tentatively downwards to his lips. And halted. And backed off.

And put up a finger in faux reprimand, as if to remind him, "I'm not a dumb bimbo, just because I'm blonde."

"I trust you," Ian promised in earnest, wrapping his fingers around hers tightly. "So, tell me. What else happened?"

"So he gave me my cell back and saw the warzone in the lobby. Probably felt the responsibility to help carry my suitcases upstairs. We chatted for a bit, and that was that."

"Funny how easy it took for him to warm up to someone new. I mean, when I first moved in, it was a full month before I first saw him. Another month before we started talking. And _I,_" Ian stressed on the 'I', "was the one who had to approach him first."

"It wasn't all for nothing, I mean, he helped you a lot with your computer and stereo and God knows what else," she said thoughtfully.

"And I shall be eternally grateful for that. What I'm truly worried about is if I'd made the right decision by letting you move in with me, because he might have a freaky crush on you. Did he freak you out?" he expressed his feelings, which on the surface might have seemed lighthearted. Claire knew that somehow, Ian meant his last words.

"Ian, that guy was eager to get rid of me as soon as possible. I've never seen anyone so uncomfortable talking to anyone in my whole life. And he did not freak me out. A tad, maybe. But probably because he's a super geek and I've never really met one," she told him a little too intensely.

Ian giggled like a schoolboy. "Oh, he's the king of kings of geeks. He's off the charts."

"You know what?" Claire smiled peevishly. "He keeps referring to you and me as Mr. Farquhar and Miss Petrelli. He reminds me so much of Mr. Prescott, I don't even know why. Probably it's his tone of voice." Mr. Prescott was one of their law professors.

"If he reminds you of Mr. Prescott, I have nothing to worry at all," he professed.

She said nothing. Suddenly she didn't feel like talking about her new neighbour anymore. Made her feel...uncomfortable. Standing up and smoothing the crease of her blouse, Claire told Ian as-a-matter-of-factly, "I've got to unpack. Then we'll go have dinner at Marco's right?" She winked.

He watched her sashay into his room; his eyes lingered longer than they should have. No. It was their room now, and it's alright, because they're officially living together as a couple. So why did he feel as if she hadn't told him everything?

She detested having doubts. But she loved Ian, she really did. And this was for the best, because she needed someone by her side. She was done living in loneliness. She closed the door because she needed the privacy. She knelt by her suitcase and took a deep breath. Unzipping the piece of luggage, she took out her belongings one by one. There was this equipment specifically that made her feel slightly rebellious, yet frighteningly comforting at the same time. Just like Diane Arbus, she thought apprehensively.

Her SLR digital camera.

Liberation.

She was Miss Independent, but even Miss Independent needed someone to fall back on. And decidedly, she thought, it would never be her big shot family.

She glanced upwards at the ceiling.

Her inner voice told her that Ian was wrong. Maybe he has a reason to worry.

* * *

Gabriel Gray had a cat. He named it Harold. If there was anything unpredictable in his life, Harold would be it. It was the only lifelong companion he could stand, the only living organism on Earth he'd cared about. And he was comfortable with it.

But after he returned from work, Harold was nowhere to be found.

"Harold? Oh Harold? Haaaa...rollllld? Meow?" Gabriel purred, panic settling in. "Where are you?"

He'd searched his whole apartment. No sign of the cat.

Gabriel swore he must've jumped down the flight of stairs from his apartment door, the _7 without an alphabet_, leading to Ian's 6A. Knocking frantically yet with a rhythm and perfect timing, Gabriel was sweating, yet his expressionless facade betrayed the arrhythmia dancing the flamenco in the chambers of his heart.

She was the last thing he had expected. "Gabriel?"

"Did you see Harold?" he handed her a box of cupcakes.

"Gabriel?" came an Estuary English-accented male voice from inside the apartment, footsteps rushing towards the door. Now that Gabriel rendered his full visual attention to the two people in apartment 6A, he realized that they too were sweating, their faces flushed, hair in disarray. Not to mention that they were wearing matching robes. Gabriel had no interest in what they were doing before he knocked. He would have easily assumed that they were unpacking Claire's things, but in barely tied robes?

"What's wrong?" Ian inquired, not quite looking at Gabriel but eyeing the cupcake box in Claire's hands. This subtle movement did not, however, escape Gabriel's stare. "It is customary for visiting neighbours to bring gifts, in this case," he signified, "food."

"Thank you," Claire nodded sagely.

Gabriel was about to say "You're welcome," when Ian cut him off irately. "You came _just_ to give us cupcakes." It was not phrased as a question, but a fact. The Englishman's blue-blood was about to boil, but this was Gabriel. Gabriel Gray, the resident geek. It would be unfair for him.

"Not _just_. Harold is missing," Gabriel replied tartly.

Claire failed to see the correlation between 'Harold is missing' and 'cupcakes', but Ian seemed to understand. "Oh. I've been in my apartment all day, I didn't see him."

Gabriel expediently switched his intense stare towards Claire without saying anything. She gaped, not knowing if she should stare back, blink, look away or say something. "Um...uh..." was all she could muster.

"It was his cat, Claire. Harold's his cat and he's missing. Did you see a cat anywhere in this building today?" Ian aided her. The comprehension dawned on her. "Ohhhhh..."

"Well, did you? See him? Small? Furry? Meows?" Gabriel asked her, looking almost bewildered. In fact, Claire thought, his hair had gone unkempt. Very geek chic.

"I know what a cat looks like, Gabriel. Does he have a collar?" Claire chided gently, trying to offer some leads to how he might try and find Harold.

"Yes he does," Gabriel's eyes furrowed. "I'll look downstairs," he said pensively. He was about to turn away; Ian and Claire going back inside before Gabriel slipped in an unknowing, innocent "Enjoy the cupcakes" to the couple and rushed back down.

Ian smirked at Claire, who had taken the liberty to hold up a cupcake to her mouth, her robe slightly parted. She stood demurely as the door clicked shut and sauntered lazily towards him.

"Oh yes we will," she purred, licking the icing off the cupcake.

* * *

Saturday.

It was only 5.30 in the morning, and the sun was already shining brightly. Warm. Fuzzy.

Claire was alone. Her camera bag was slung on her left shoulder, her fingers gripping the strap tightly as if her life depended on it. She felt particularly mutinous today, since it was the weekend and by definition people are not supposed to wake up at 5 in the morning to take photographs, when one had too much to drink the night before.

Which was what happened to Ian.

She was sure he wouldn't wake up before she returned back home, so she had a few hours to spend in this new, uncharted territory. It must have been more than a normal park. A garden it must be, she decided victoriously, based on the fabled Elysium. Yet it had been abandoned, and it was more of a forest than a garden – but the marred statues of Greek deities indicated that this place once had been private property to a Romantic with great vision. And wealth. And power.

_Wealth and power_. She became slightly depressed when she thought of those two words, because they reminded her of her own family. Her seemingly perfect family, just waiting to crack under the pressure.

No. She refused to wallow in her own problems. Today was too beautiful for her to feel sorry for herself. She had to cherish this moment while it lasted. Claire walked further into the garden until she reached what she believed was a lake. A man-made lake, to be sure. Her nimble fingers worked with her camera with precision and professionalism. She clicked the capture button whenever and wherever she felt was right. She was an amateur, but this was a hobby, and a hobby she loved nonetheless. She believed that she was quite good at it.

But no one had to know.

As she looked through the viewfinder, her heart skipped a beat when she saw someone leaning by a tree a few feet from the ledge of the lake. She twisted the lens to zoom. It was someone familiar. He was oblivious to her presence.

"Gabriel?" she whispered in shock. "Why the hell's he here?"

Quietly, she moved behind a tree a few feet behind his tree where she could spy on him through her lens. She watched him as she racked her brain, trying to think what was different about him this morning. To be honest, it had been four days since she last saw him. The last time being the night he knocked recklessly at Ian's door, looking for Harold. Curiously, she hadn't heard from him after that. Maybe he'd found him. She did ask Ian about it, but he hadn't heard anything about it either.

Gabriel was listening to his iPod, she chuckled. For some reason she'd never thought of him as the iPod listening type. That man worked at MIT Artificial Intelligence lab, for God's sake. Of course he's got to have the latest gadgetry. He's got to have the latest gadgetry, even before they were sold in stores. Even when they were still manufactured in factories, perhaps. Even when they were mere prototypes.

She held the camera steadily and took a few candid photos of Gabriel as he rummaged through his rucksack, picking up a book. She couldn't make out what the title said; it was a colossal paperback nevertheless. She was never a fan of taking photos of people, but this was too fun to let slip away. Because this was Gabriel, and he was alone.

She felt hot and bothered all of a sudden.

The ridiculous glasses were still there. But he was dressed fully in black, as if in mourning. No striped sweater. Just a long-sleeved black t-shirt overtopped by an unbuttoned dark blue plaid shirt, black jeans...

Casual.

So this was how Gabriel-at-the-weekends looked like. Claire was highly confident that even Ian had never seen him like this. She leaned forward, trying to get a better view of the book he was reading, but failed miserably. She decided to switch to a higher-powered lens, yet by the time she locked her camera focus on target, Gabriel was gone.

Not for long.

"Morning, Miss Petrelli."

Claire admitted defeat and pivoted reluctantly to face her unexpected guest. She didn't even dare look at him.

"Morning, Mr. Gray."

_to be continued..._

* * *

A/N #2: So....that was the first chapter. How was it? Good? Bad? Also, did anyone get the cat reference?


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed! Also big hugs to people who favorited this story or put it on alert. I love you guys :))_

_Also, congratulations to those who got the cat reference! So here's the next chapter, with a cameo by another Heroes character somewhere in the middle of it. Enjoy!_

* * *

Chapter 2

It would be an understatement if she declared that he wasn't mad. After all, his Saturday morning had just been assaulted by an outsider, and a new outsider at that. Worst of all, she was stalking him with her camera.

He did not say a word. His unnerving gaze already told her everything.

"I—I'll leave," she gathered her things shakily. The morning chills had got to her. Gabriel's presence had amplified the iciness to minus 10 degrees.

"Stay," he ordered. It was a growl. She'd never thought there would be a day when she'd hear him growl.

And she was now more scared of him, with the dark attire and all. 'Please go back to being dorky,' she pleaded silently in her heart.

"I want to see the photos."

"I'll delete them!" she offered gratuitously. "I'd do anything as long as you let me go. And my camera." Gabriel's right eyebrow went up, his head tilted to one side. Was he angry? She thought she saw the corner of his lips curve oh ever so slightly, but she couldn't say for sure.

"I just want to see them. You don't have to delete them." If anyone were to ask her now, she wouldn't even know why she handed him her camera, showing him the captured shots of himself.

"These are quite good," he complimented her. She beamed inside, although she did not quite show it.

"The lighting is a bit off, but that can be easily reset." Gabriel shrugged silently before holding up Claire's camera, pointing the lens towards her and clicked the capture button. She didn't even have time to react -- her eyes felt as if they were blinded by the camera flash. "Oww!" she yelped in shock.

Wistfully, Gabriel handed the camera back to her and started walking away. Confused, Claire ran after him and managed to catch his arm -- to which he pulled back briskly. "What happened?" she asked again, this time looking at his face. Really looked at him for what he was worth, because Gabriel seemed to be out of character for her. This was a man she had only met for a week, from worlds poles apart, but she felt as if she could talk to him.

Even if they weren't really talking to each other. Even if he was too silent for an unusually verbose person.

"Still can't find Harold," he answered after a time that ticked like forever. "I've convinced myself that he had died."

"I'm sorry," she managed to whisper. Suddenly she felt the sudden urge to swallow; her throat was chafing. "I'm sorry," she repeated the words, as if they were part of a litany.

"There is no need for you to feel sorry for anything," his voice void of emotion. "Unless. You were the one who were responsible for Harold's disappearance. But. The probability is too low for it to be you."

Claire's eyes widened. "I don't know if I should feel insulted or relieved by your...accusation."

"Merely a thought that had crossed my mind. Believe me, you should be relieved," Gabriel's glasses glittered as the sunlight shone brightly on the lenses. He nodded curtly and turned away stoically.

Gritting her teeth in near-annoyance, Claire went after him again. "What are you doing here?"

"The same question should be applied to you, Miss Petrel--,"

"Claire."

"Claire," he corrected himself.

"I asked you first," she stood opposite him, crossing her arms irately.

Gabriel sighed. "This was the place where I found him. Harold. Plus," he crossed his arms as if mimicking her, "this has been my personal weekend retreat ever since I found this place. Now you," he took a step forward, causing her to fall back, "you've invaded my territory. So, what are _you_ doing here?" he asked her accusingly.

She was supposed to feel terrified. Here she was, all alone and defenseless, deep in a secret garden she'd accidentally ventured into, up against someone she barely knew. But this was Gabriel, and Gabriel was harmless. That was what she thought.

"Consider this my personal weekend retreat too," she replied.

Gabriel shook his head grudgingly. "You really should leave."

"Why? Because you found this place first?" she asked him with a high pitched-tone that might have caused that poor little flock of birds over there to fly away in shock.

"Because I need to be alone." his voice rose up to match hers. It sounded almost...whiny. Hurt.

"You live alone. You always have the time to be alone, in your apartment," she pointed out.

He did not reply to that. Instead, he hastily gathered his things and muttered, "Thank you for ruining my weekend, neighbor."

"Excuse me? What did you say?" Claire was not just going to let this slide easily.

"You do not understand," he replied indifferently and scurried away, leaving a very dazed and confused Claire.

* * *

He refused to believe that he could be irritated by another person's presence at a place he called his sanctuary. It should not be different, with or without Claire there, really. If he had just pretended that she was not there. If he had not went to sneak up on her.

"Should not have approached her first," he thought. "But she should not have provoked me. But I should not have been easily provoked," Gabriel's mind processes argued back and forth.

Three knocks at his door pulled him out from his cerebral reverie. "Gabriel!" came the now-too-familiar voice, ringing just a little-too-loudly in his ears.

_Why won't she leave me alone?_

"Gabriel, I'm sorry," the voice at his door cracked into what normal observers would call 'in distress'. All the more reason for him to not let her in. Because in truth, no one has ever entered his apartment, and he would not let one rare anomaly modify that truth.

_Claire Petrelli is an anomaly. _

Yet he still crept towards his front door silently, careful as not to let her hear his footsteps, like what he had done earlier in the woods. He was good at this; he could be a sleuth. He had aspired to be Sherlock Holmes when he was a child, but somehow along the years physics and engineering had overtaken his fascination for thrilling detective mysteries. He was never any good at imagining and explaining his imagination to others, or he could have been a successful mystery novel author by now.

_Scratch that._

He was never any good at explaining anything at all in the first place, or he would not have been stuck working in a lab instead of giving lectures to MIT students. He had given up trying, because he knew it would end in one of two very negative outcomes:

a) Getting too nervous he could barely speak, or

b) Getting too excited that his speech became too convoluted and messy and too loquacious and too tautological and too magniloquent and...well...no one could catch up.

_But never redundant._ _That's the most important thing. _

There was no harm in a little bit of imagination, though.

Gabriel crouched by his door, pressing the shell of his ear to the cold wooden panel, trying to listen for any sounds of movement from the other side. And he imagined, or at least tried, to imagine that she was pressing her forehead against the door as she mouthed the words that he did not imagine he was hearing.

"I don't even know if you're in there. I don't even know why I'm doing this. Probably I've gone mad," she laughed nervously. "I've only known you for...barely a week."

_And your point is?_

"I'm sorry," she pleaded again. "I want to understand. You don't know me, and I know that you don't like strangers anyway. Ian told me. But I need to tell you this, because I understand only one thing about you; that you think you need to be alone. It just hit me that Harold disappeared and he was your companion and truly, all these times you've never been _really_ alone...until now. I know there's not much sense in what I'm saying, and since you're not there anyway, I'm spared from your judgment. I just," she paused, "need to vent this out."  
_  
To my front door._

"I've really gone mad. Talking to a fucking door that belongs to my neighbor. Who clearly hates me," he heard her snicker; followed by a sniff.

Which was followed by a series of sobs, followed by the click of her sandals against the hardness of the wooden floor, making their way towards the stairs. "Oh shit," was the last gasp he heard from her.

_Shit, indeed._

Gabriel was about to do the maddest, most illogical step he would ever make.

He opened the door.

--

Her eyes were bloodshot red.

Mother always told him to be courteous, _no_, chivalrous. Now a lady was crying, which he assumed was caused by his insensitivity towards her insensitivity of his insensitivity, if that made any sense.

It was only logical to _not_ let her in, because this was far more than what Gabriel could handle already. He stood possessively at his door, tall and gangly, blocking whatever view she could manage to steal into his apartment. Gawkily, he handed her a box of Kleenex. His gaze dropped to the floor, to her feet.

At her sandals.

Trying to remember the sound they made when they hit the floorboards.

The only sound he heard, however, was Claire blowing her nose, causing him to back off slightly for the fear of inhaling droplets of her...body fluids. Where was his face mask when he needed one? "Why?" he eyed her cautiously.

"Why what?" she inquired, rubbing her eyes with the back of her palm.

"You're crying," he said flatly.

"I didn't mean to," she hiccupped.

"Girls," Gabriel mumbled warily.

"I heard that, you know," she rolled her eyes.

"I heard you, too."

"Sorry?"

"That's the fourth time today you've said sorry to me. And now I am compelled to say 'I forgive you', although in this case I should inform you that your confession at my door...I listened to every word of it," Gabriel admitted.

The shock must have rippled its course through her body, because she had stopped crying altogether, and was now staring at him with the fiercest pair of emeralds that shimmered even more with her unshed tears. He had used 'listened' instead of 'heard', she noticed.

"You were right," he avowed. "About Harold. You do not need to worry about me. I thank you for your concern. But I assure you, company is the last thing that I need right now."

"Why?"

"You're really stubborn, Miss Petrelli," he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and tilted his head slightly, but not in a movement that indicated annoyance. No, Claire's rudimentary grasp of 'Gabriel Gray' was enough to distinguish between the subtlest of gestures and twitches.

"_Claire_," she protested.

"Claire," he enunciated carefully. "Do not take this to heart, but I really don't want to talk to you right now."

_"Why?"_

"My preference of social company is of no concern to you."

"Oh, for God's sake. You're not a Vulcan! You're a human being! You can't stay huddled in there all alone!" she shouted back at him, exasperated.

"I am aware that I am not nor ever will be a Vulcan, Miss--"

"-- Claire," she interjected --

"-- Petrelli," he continued dispassionately, "for I neither have green blood nor pointed ears. But how would you know if I'm a _normal _human being?"

That statement caused Claire to do a double-take, before she saw that tiny upward slant at the corners of his lips and realized that Gabriel was perfectly, if bizarrely, able to make a joke. And she smiled, too, despite herself.

"I am amazed by your unquenched curiosity, _Claire_. I'll divulge the necessary details to make you understand, but 'here and now' is not an ideal state for us to..._talk_," his voice dropped almost menacingly.

But this was Gabriel. He could never be a menace. Could he?

Somehow, his words seemed to have cheered her up, her smile deepened. It was his turn to feel confused, because no one had ever knocked on his door to ask him how he was doing. Certainly no one had ever been so boldly brave to step up and question him endlessly about why he was acting the way he did.

Normal people would step back because they feel assaulted by his indifference. One conversation and his disinterest would form an impenetrable barrier between _him_, Gabriel Gray and _them_, the World. There was Ian, of course, who interrupted him at random moments, but for matters of convenience. Gabriel didn't mind of people using him that way. His technical expertise in exchange for their unspoken words and a build-up of assumptions of which, most of them were true.

Nearly true, anyway.

Ian told Claire that he despised strangers. Remembering his first meeting with her, she did mention that Ian had told many things about him to her. Made him wonder what else that Brit told her.

"So what is an ideal state?"

Gabriel eyed the camera clutched firmly in her grip before looking back at her. Not straight into her eyes, but just concentrating between that area between her eyes. A trick he learnt.

"I believe I have ruined your Saturday. I wish to, um, rectify this matter by repeating our...rendezvous at a similar hour and place in 7 days," Gabriel spoke quaintly.

It took some time for his words to sink in, but when they did, Claire glowed. "You mean...next week..."

"Do not make me say it again. It was..." he scratched the top of his head, "...difficult enough the first time," Gabriel clenched his teeth in vexation.

The grin never left her face. A promise was enough to clear the heavy air surrounding them, and in the standstill that followed, he grudgingly let a slight smile tug on his lips too.

"And Claire, I wish to rectify something else too."

"Hmm?"

"While your prior conduct of talking to my door was tremendously irrational..."

"....."

"I do not hate you."

--

When she went downstairs to return to her apartment, Gabriel still hadn't known what exactly had he achieved from their short interaction.

He still hadn't known why she cried. Worse, he didn't know why he had offered to see her again.

"Like a date," she had said cheekily. That had caused his barely-there-smile to fade entirely, to an effect of her 'taking her words back' and telling him apologetically that it was a joke.

It wasn't funny.

--

Claire returned to an oblivious Ian, who was still snoring softly when she tiptoed into the bedroom, carefully hiding her camera before nudging him to wake up and shower while she made breakfast.

When he entered the kitchen with his damp hair and chiselled jaw and everything that screamed perfection, Claire jumped him.

Breakfast quickly was set aside for brunch, before they realized midway that it should really be lunch instead.

The rest of the weekend passed uneventfully for Gabriel.

--

When Monday morning arrived, Gabriel made a mental point to go to work earlier than usual in order to prevent from bumping shoulders with any of 6A's occupants on the way out -- especially that little dangerous minx. He could have whistled merrily at that pleasant thought and almost did, before a vision in white and gold made him stop in his tracks.

Abruptly.

"Hey, you're early this morning!"

Gabriel's jaw dropped. And he blinked. Again. And again.

But the vision did not only stay the same, it eventually cleared into a perceptive reality. Claire was standing in front of her apartment door, still sweating and catching her breath from what he could only speculate as her Monday morning jogging session.

Alone.

"Cat got your tongue?" Claire teased him, before realizing that Gabriel's expression had changed to extremely miserable. "Oh, sorry I didn't mean to--,"

He held up his palm, signalling her to stop. "It's alright, it's alright," Gabriel mumbled dismissively; head hung low and walking past her as if she wasn't there. She stared at him incredulously before he vanished down the flight of stairs without saying another word.

She was beginning to doubt that Saturday's schedule would be realized.

On the other hand, he was beginning to doubt that heading to work early was such a good idea after all.

--

"Gabriel? Gabriel?" a deep voice brought him back from his utmost concentration on the boards of blinking LEDs laid before him. "What?" he snapped almost irritably, before focusing his eyes on the person standing at his shabby office's doorframe. The guy was indifferently polishing the nameplate hung at his door.

_Dr. Gabriel Gray, PhD._

It was Mohinder Suresh, Gabriel's only colleague at MIT that could _actually _stand him. "Lunch?"

Gabriel peeked at his watch and managed an "Oh," before following Mohinder to the cafeteria. The journey was a silent one.

_Until..._

"Claire Petrelli? Nathan Petrelli's daughter? Really?"

_Oh, great. Him too._

"Wow. You've got good luck with all these famous rich people. First, Ian Farquhar, heir to Queen Elizabeth's throne, came to live in your apartment building. Now his girlfriend's a Petrelli," Mohinder mused profoundly when Gabriel told him of his predicament.

'_Ugh,'_ Gabriel groaned inwardly after inadvertently linking Mohinder's British accent with Ian, which reminded him to the source of his woes, the anomaly called Claire Petrelli. "I rarely ever speak to Ian Farquhar except when he asked me to fix his computer, or assist him with PlayStation 3 games' cheat codes," Gabriel clarified rather tetchily.

_Or the other day when I asked him about Harold._

"And for the record, he's 17th in line to the throne. Which also could be reinterpreted as 'don't even dream about it', he explained. "Ergo, Claire Petrelli is merely another insignificant instance in my life," he deduced triumphantly.

"You keep saying that," Mohinder dismissed him with a bored look.

"So I do. I am only dictating the truth."

The two men had had this conversation before and it always, _always_ ended with Gabriel having the last word. His tiny eccentricities cleared the slate, though. Like how conveniently did he change the topic from himself to...well, himself, but towards a different direction. "I _need_ to wash my hands."

Mohinder shut his eyes as if in pain at his colleague's denseness. As always, Gabriel was too engrossed in whatever caught his attention at that moment -- but always an inanimate object (or animals, if he was in a good mood, but never people) – to notice his colleague's silent reaction.

"What?"

Mohinder shook his head, took a gulp of his chocolate milk and shrugged.

* * *

He didn't have to turn his head to know if it was her. He had memorized the sound of her footsteps, the sole of her summer sandals against the soft springy carpet of fresh grass. What a way to start one's Saturday morning.

"Good morning, Gabriel," she greeted him warmly. He held to his colossal paperback tighter, as if that would save him from this impending calamity. Hopefully after this she would be wise enough to stay clear of him, ever.

Claire cleared her throat. He scooted away a bit to give her a miniscule amount of space to invade.

"Good morning," he replied edgily, before murmuring a soft "Claire," at the end, because she was giving him The Stare again. Then she grinned haphazardly. To which he responded by making an alarmed face.

"Hey...you're early this morning!" she chirped happily, reminiscent of the words she said to him on Monday morning. She swore she could see a blush creeping on his pale cheeks. His response never came. Instead, he ordered her to sit.

So she did – right beside him.

Which caused him to scoot away inches further. She didn't react.

"So tell me," she began. "What are we doing here?"

"Camera," came his surprising rejoinder.

"What?"

Gabriel ignored her. Instead, he put up a finger, signalling her to wait – _'Why does he always do that?'_ Claire wondered, while he fumbled through his backpack. Her heart made a slight jump when he suddenly stopped rummaging, and looked straight at her as if he had found a jackpot.

"I believe you have reignited my old passion for photography," Gabriel finally replied at an unrelenting nervy speed, causing Claire to repeat her previous, simple question again:

"What?"

He pulled up a camera.

_His_ camera.

"If your memory had failed you," Gabriel sighed, "I hope the phrase 'ideal state' could perhaps refresh it?"

Claire nodded, unsure where this was going.

"I do not usually partake in a conversation regarding trivial matters," Gabriel explained, rubbing his throbbing temple. "But I am also most curious at your unrepentant endeavours to indulge me into 'talking to someone', with that 'someone' observably meaning 'you'. Since the theoretical exchange to obtain answers from you is decidedly going to be inconsequential, I believe our mutual partiality towards photography may help focus our interaction without the perils of straying from topic."

For the second time, Claire was amazed at how this man could possibly say those long-winded, hefty-worded sentences without catching a breath. The answer, she thought, might root from his apparent inability to look at her while saying it. "So, this is what you mean by an ideal state," she said.

"Indeed," Gabriel agreed and stood up quickly. From Claire's vantage point, Gabriel's height had become too overwhelming, looming over her like a giant. She had never felt so small until that moment.

"Therefore, do you wish to pursue this course of action?"

Claire followed her instinct.

She followed him.

* * *

A/N#2: Soooooo how was it? I hope I've written the many Claire-Gabriel banters in a way that suits everyone's taste. I'm in the middle of writing the third chapter, but I'd like to hear what you guys think of this one first so that I can proceed. So, tell me what you guys think! :)


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Here's the third chapter, wherein Gabriel and Claire talk about their past (or at least muse about them). And is it just me or the chapters are getting longer with each update? *sweatdrops*. Anyhow, some mentions of Gabriel Gray's past that have been familiar to us will be discussed in this chapter, albeit twisted a bit. You'll see when you get there. _

_Also? Gabriel makes a huge leap of faith this time. With that in mind, I give you the third chapter. XD  
_

* * *

Chapter 3

"Have you always had an interest in photography?" Claire asked, pointing the lens at an oblivious Gabriel, who was busy wiping his own lens.

"I've always had interest in many _interesting_ things," he replied unflappably. The sound of Claire's camera flash however, managed to startle him. "What are you doing?" he asked dubiously.

"Taking photos of you," Claire countered and continued clicking the capture button several times, her focus fixed on the man standing stupefied in front of her. "What sort of...interesting things?"

Gabriel was highly aware that he would never be able to dodge her unremitting string of questions. She was going to be a lawyer after all, and a Petrelli at that, he ruminated wincingly. It was already imprinted in her genes. The only option left was to give what she wanted. Soon enough, she would be bored and this would all be behind him. He decided to test this hypothesis by imparting what he deemed would be the most un_interesting _pastime she would ever hear of.

"I am afraid photography is not the most interesting of them all. If I have to choose," he pretended to think, "I prefer fixing watches."

"Fixing watches," Claire echoed his words monotonously.

"Yes," Gabriel declared victoriously, because it was the truth and he had no reason to lie.

Because the word 'interesting' have antonymous definitions between the both of them.

Because interesting to her in all probability meant parties or Wii or celebrity gossip, when to him it meant watch-fixing or Scrabble or Dickinson's many-a-morbid poems. Even for a techie, he was still sort of traditional. He played PS3 occasionally (on his own, while Harold scratched the other controller, he thought dejectedly) and read books on his iPod, but the smooth feel of those exquisite wooden chess pieces sliding between his fingers; or the smell of old, browned pages of a dusty novel picked up from an equally dusty shelf –

"Pardon me for the lack of a better phrase, but that is so cool!" Claire gasped animatedly.

Gabriel's eyebrows rose dramatically; shocked, for he was still unable to decipher what precisely would make her tick and go away. He knew she was not being sarcastic, because now she had abandoned her camera altogether and was heading towards him determinedly.

"You are a very, very interesting man, Mr Gray," she allowed herself say, this time in a milder manner. "I have never met anyone like you."

'People like you would never want to even if you had the chance,' had been Gabriel's poised reply, but thankfully he retracted himself. Finally, he found out why humans think faster than they could speak. It was for these kinds of circumstances, wherein he could think twice before verbalizing his theoretical, initial response.

He went with a strangely hoarse-whispered "Why, thank you," instead.

"Ian told me you helped him fix other things, too. His computer. Stereo. Electronic stuff. But watches?"

_Ian. Again. _

"Yes. Well. Um..."

"Is there anything that you can't fix?" she inquired again, gentler this time, although she was still bemused. "Don't answer that," she told him facetiously. 'Can you fix my life?' she had wanted to ask, but she held her tongue as quickly as the question sprang to mind. "Anyway, where did you learn how to fix watches?"

_Danger!! Danger!!_

This was getting personal. "We used to have a shop," he muttered, before snapping a photo of Claire, who was caught unaware. She barely let out a tiny shriek when he started bombarding her with his own questions.

"Why did you cry when you came to my door?"

"Hey, that's not a very subtle way of avoiding my questions, is it?"

"Do you not think that it is my turn to ask questions now?"

"Fine. I had a rough week, alright?" she retorted tersely.

"That is not a very subtle way of avoiding my question," he recited her previous query, in declarative form.

Claire rubbed her suddenly-too-warm cheeks, knowing fully that it wasn't just the sun's heat that caused her blood vessels to dilate. This was how it felt like to be interrogated by someone she barely knew. "Sorry," she muttered. It was unnerving how she suddenly felt too exposed, too fragile when she was forced to face the real underlying issue.

To untangle the complexities that had formed around it.

"All my life, I've always been surrounded by people. But I always felt alone, even with the endless hustling and bustling around me. There's not one day when friends did not become enemies and vice versa. The perks of being a Petrelli," she snorted. "For years, I felt empty. Useless. Stupid," she huffed, emphasizing on the last word a little too loudly. "But you," her deadly gaze shot at him, "you're different."

Gabriel felt like curling into a ball.

"You want to be alone, even when you already are," she alleged thunderously.

Gabriel felt like sucking his thumb, _then_ curl into a ball. But he didn't.

"I talked to you for only an hour or so...and it made me realize how selfish I was. Because I have _everything..."_

"...but you feel like you have _nothing_," he finished for her. "And because I appeared to be your complete opposite, it scared you?"

Claire nodded contemplatively, unable to speak. Her eyes however, gleamed with inquisitiveness, as if asking him, "How did you know what I was going to say?"

Gabriel's mouth twisted as he struggled to put into words what he understood about her and how he came about to understanding her. Or how wrong she was about him. Truly, understanding things were his forte. It came as easy to him as ABCs, as 123s. It was one of the reasons why he could fix things; because he understood how they work, appreciated what made them work, and comprehended what could break them.

Understanding humans however, was out of the question. Humans were too complex, too puzzling, too tied up with an invisible entity called 'emotion'.

As a child, he gave up on understanding humans almost as immediately as he found the next best thing – watches.

Intricate. Complex. Detailed.

But never emotional.

His fascination with the ensemble behind such a plain old, normal device kept him occupied for several years, until...

"The shop was closed down. My dad went bankrupt," he confessed. Off-topic, he knew, but she at least deserved something in return for her directness.

"The shop?"

"The watch shop. I spent most of my childhood there. It was my ambition to be a watchmaker," he brooded. "My brain was somehow designed to understand the mechanics, physics, chemistry, biology of things. I knew this even before I entered school. But I had problems interacting with my own species, because of the intangibility of emotions. I simply could not grasp it at all. It was not until my late teens that I started to understand, started to notice. A slow process, which is taking place even now."

"Oh my God," Claire breathed. "You didn't choose loneliness," the realization dawned on her.

"I wouldn't have chosen loneliness," he corrected sharply. "Nonetheless, my inopportune circumstance required me to do otherwise."

"But you understood me. That's gotta be something, right?"

"An imperative step in evolution," he said unflinchingly.

Claire ignored him and made her move. "Gabriel, have you ever had a friend? A real one?"

"Is this a trick question?"

"No."

"Then, no."

"Neither have I. So. Do you want to be my friend?" Claire felt as if she was 9 again, at some lavish Petrelli birthday bash with hundreds of guests, all strangers. Or maybe when she was 16, at school, when she joined the cheerleading squad. Together with several other short-skirted-PVC-faced girls she _had to_ call friends, at a game with one-thousand-and-one over-energized attendees; all seated at the bleachers. No one she knew was in the crowd.

Not even her squad mates who were getting ready to perform.

Not even her father, or her uncle, or her grandmother –

Nobody.

Except maybe the man in the horn-rimmed-glasses, who was even more fatherly than her real father could ever be.

She was aware that Gabriel was still fiddling with his camera, trying to process what she had just asked him.

"Give me several days to assess the pros and cons of this commitment," he replied ponderingly, "and I will inform you of my decision when I am ready."

Claire could have cried in a renewed sense of happiness. But she didn't. This was not the right occasion to celebrate.

"Do not keep your hopes up. I do not wish to break your heart," he warned her.

She understood.

She understood him; even if not completely, then partially.

At least, she understood him.

--

There was a wild thrill of achievement burning in Claire's heart as she walked back to her apartment, Gabriel tagging closely behind. He was uncomfortable with the idea of walking side-by-side and offered to walk behind her instead. Claire had wanted to joke that he probably only wanted to see her bum, but there was no way she could pull it off without dire consequences.

When they finally reached the front of her apartment door, it wasn't an understatement to describe the scene as 'terribly awkward'. Gabriel was back to being the incorrigible social disaster, while Claire had a difficulty choosing whether to just say goodbye, wave goodbye, or hug goodbye.

Certainly the last choice was not applicable.

She tipped her head and mouthed a silent bye as she watched him climb the stairs to his floor, before entering her apartment as discreetly as she could.

Apparently her discretion was not enough.

"Where did you go? I was worried sick about you!" Ian was in the kitchen, cellphone in hand, sweating profusely out of panic.

"I went, ah, out," she rambled.

"I can see that," he gritted his teeth, trying to control a building mixture of fury and gratitude.

"Taking pictures of the places around here," she gulped. There was no reason for her to feel guilty. She was after all, telling the truth. It took her two more minutes worth of an explanation of why her cellphone was off or why she didn't tell him where she was going before Ian began to cool down. When he pulled her into a long, tight embrace, she knew all was forgiven. Even if she hadn't said sorry. "Just...don't scare me like that, okay babes?"

Claire nodded. "I need to take a shower," she winked at him. "Don't start breakfast without me!"

--

Breakfast was reheated croissants and instant coffee. Toasted bread with marmalade.

They had eaten in silence, before Ian went into the bedroom and saw Claire's camera on the desk. "Claire, can I take a look at the photos in your camera?"

Absent-mindedly, she said yes.

Before she remembered exactly what kind of photos had she taken that morning. Or rather, _whose_ photos.

"Um, wait! I don't think there's anything in there that's worth looking at," she hastily grabbed the camera from Ian's hands. "I mean, I don't think I'm that talented," Claire racked her head for a stronger excuse.

"You know I don't mind, Claire," Ian tried to reach for the camera.

The ruckus continued for several more seconds accompanied by Claire's reluctance and Ian's insistence, when a slippery hand and an unstable posture caused the camera to fall onto the floor with a loud, cracky thud.

Nothing was broken, thankfully, but Ian got to it faster and switched the 'on' button and...

Nothing happened. The screen remained black; none of the other buttons worked either.

"Battery problem, I guess," Claire offered, trying to hide her disconcertment over what just happened. "It's normal," she reassured him. "It does that all the time. One of the things I tried to tell you," she lied.

Damn.

She lied. She'd make one fine lawyer, she decided.

But her camera was indeed dysfunctional, and it wasn't some battery problem, because it was still at least 50% charged by the time she returned from the garden with Gabriel.

Slipping her camera's memory card into her jeans' pocket, Claire made a mental note to find someone to fix the camera for her.

Another visit to apartment 7 was imminent.

--

Three knocks on his door on a lazy Sunday afternoon. Who could it possibly be?

"Claire." Why wasn't he surprised?

"Gabriel."

"I did tell you to wait, didn't I?"

"It's not about that."

"Oh."

She held her camera out to him. "It's broken. Can you fix it?"

"I will try," Gabriel took the camera, weighed it in his palms, before adding an emotionless "Goodbye," and slammed the door practically in Claire's face.

Two seconds later, the door opened again. "Why are you still standing there?"

"It's my camera. At least have some decency to provide a better customer service," she reproached.

"What do you wish for me to do, Miss Petrelli?" Gabriel tried smiling and ended up showing his incisors, which honestly, made him look positively predatory. She also detected sarcasm somewhere in that tone of voice, which was a step-up for him in the communications department.

"Let me in," she bargained.

"You do know that I never let anyone in."

"Make an exception. I am your friend-to-be."

"Entering my apartment was not in the discussion."

"We're discussing it now."

"I have a camera to fix."

Was it just her or was he chattier than usual?

"Claire, _please_."

"Alright, alright. I'm leaving."

She didn't see him at all in the days that followed.

--

Her cell phone vibrated on Friday evening, a text message from an unidentified number.

'fixed your camera,' it said. At first she wondered how Gabriel got her number, before she remembered that she was the one who gave it to him during the lost-cell-phone debacle. How apt, she thought, that he was the kind of guy who would type every word in full.

'will get it frm u 2moro,' she texted him back.

His 'ok' several seconds later made her smile.

* * *

They stayed like that, just lazing under the tree, Claire fiddling with her recently-repaired camera while trying not to look obviously interested in whatever else was inside Gabriel's backpack. "I haven't seen you in a while," she spoke, trying to make herself sound indifferent.

"Been working nights at the lab," was his correspondingly indifferent reply. Claire knew right away that it meant he had not gone back home at all; that he had been spending nights at his office, working his ass off. Since Harold had been missing, Gabriel was inexplicably convivial towards the prospect of burying his companionship deficit in an indeterminate pile of complicated projects.

"The facts that were disclosed to me last Saturday...have you ever divulged similar information to Ian?" Gabriel inquired diffidently, watching Claire's every tiny movement from corners of his eyes. It was directed as casual as possible, yet Claire visibly stiffened.

"No," she tried to appear relaxed. "Why did you ask?"

He shook his head, frown lines etched on his forehead. "Did you tell anyone else?"

Gabriel, she noticed, had a habit of answering one question with another. "Very few people. But they're a bunch of busy folks, too far away. I don't want to bother them with quote unquote, 'trivial matters'."

"I take it that this 'they' is your family?"

She pursed her lips, sighing deeply. "Not quite. But close." Claire was well aware what his next question would be, based on the way his eyes lit up as he prepared to ask her the inevitable. "And I can't talk to Ian about these things. He would hear me out, but he wouldn't listen. He would go on and praise me, tell me how great I was...things I've heard at least a thousand times."

He arched his brows quizzically. "How about your Harvard acquaintances?"

"As fake as wax statues," she spat inherently. "Maybe it's just me who has trust issues, but I really don't know who to trust. Except you."

"I do not know how you could have reached the conclusion, but I am fairly certain the pathway must have been an illogical one."

"It's called instinct, Gabriel."

"And what if your instinct is wrong?"

Claire bit her lower lip in search for an intelligent retort. "Would you lie to me, Gabriel?"

"That is an unfounded worry, Claire. I never lie."

"Do you see why I can trust you now?"

He fell silent. Perplexity was still engraved on his face, but as time ticked by, hesitation was gradually replaced by an acknowledgment – recognition of her wits. He did not falter. "If you should know, Claire, I cannot say the same to you."

She was unfazed. "Do explain," she ordered in Gabriel-esque fashion, making him fidget a little bit.

"There are several selective groups of people that I do not trust," he began quietly, his voice almost cracking as the intensity of Claire's gaze burned through his skin. "Politicians," he swallowed, "are one of them."

Claire had a bad feeling of where this was going.

"Lawyers...are another," he rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, unable to meet her death-defying stare. "Since you are strongly allied with both professions, reason dictates that I should not trust you."

"I am not my father," she clenched her teeth guardedly. "And it is not my choice that I'm at law school. Why can't you trust lawyers anyway? I can identify with anyone's abhorrence for politicians...but lawyers?"

"After what happened to my father's shop, I believe I have an immense reason to detest lawyers."

She didn't even have to look at his pained expression to know that he was serious. His tone was immaculately dry, yet his pitch had gone up an octave. That had to account for something. Claire had a tiny inkling that the watch shop wasn't just a leisure pursuit for Gabriel – it was his _life_. When it went bankrupt..._when it went bankrupt..._

All was lost.

She didn't have to ask him this.

It was arguable that he could ever grieve for someone. Gabriel was the kind of boy who had never cried in his life, never shed a tear. Except a few times when he was bullied into oblivion by those brawnier boys in grade school. But those were tears of pain. They didn't count.

He didn't cry when his father died, a few months after the shop was closed. Gabriel was never young enough to know about small cell lung carcinoma. His mother became the sole breadwinner afterwards, working tenaciously to feed a family. Excessively opposed to her son's unyielding persistence at wanting to become a watchmaker, she nurtured notions in his head that he was capable of more superior accomplishments.

Because she understood that Gabriel was different.

_Special. _

Claire did not take a single picture that morning.

--

"Where's your mother now?" she asked as they strolled back home after successfully persuading Gabriel to walk by her side, albeit a feet away.

"Still in New York, at our old apartment. Where else could she be?" he mumbled distressingly. His hands were snuck tightly in his pockets, head bowed low, eyes concentrating on the hard pavement below his feet. This was the most uncomfortable position Claire had ever seen him act.

The mention of 'New York' made her stop. Gabriel walked a few feet further before noticing her pause, turning to face her. Claire looked as if she just had a glorious epiphany.

"New York?" she asked breathlessly. "New York, as in, New York?"

If anything, Gabriel's hands could have delved deeper into his pocket as he scrambled for a reply. "New York," he confirmed, when everything else failed.

"Your dad's shop was in New York?"

He nodded mechanically.

"You're from New York," she said, a hand slapped her forehead in disbelief. "Do you know that I'm from New York?"

He nodded mechanically and rolled his eyes, as if to say, 'You're Claire Petrelli. Of course I know you're from New York, duh,' except maybe without the 'duh'. Claire could have punched some sense into him, her fists already by her sides as she tried to calm down. "Why did you not tell me this before?"

"An irrelevant piece of information," he replied absent-mindedly.

"An irrelevant – oh, Gabriel, we come from the same place! This is a coincidence!" she panted excitedly. "And please don't break into a droning lecture about the Law of Large Numbers," Claire cautioned when he was about to open his mouth in disapproval.

His parted lips closed instantaneously.

"Do you still talk to your mother?"

"Yes, I do. Every weekend on the phone."

--

As they reached the stairwell that led up to Gabriel's apartment, she half expected him to waltz right up to his floor without a proper farewell. Just like last week. She stood in front of her door, knowing well that the rest of her Saturday was going to be abominably dreary.

Last week she had asked Ian to join her in a game of Scrabble, or chess. Ian looked at her as if she was insane.

She had ended up playing against the computer and lost despondently.

Gabriel was still standing at the stairwell, watching her as she twisted the doorknob almost too slowly. "Claire," he called, snapping her out from her trance.

She spun around listlessly and saw his glasses gleam, reflecting the bright fluorescent lights of the hallway. His voice was shaky, yet the sound that resonated couldn't have been clearer.

"Do you still wish to visit my apartment?"

_To be continued..._

* * *

A/N #2: *grins* I really hope that this chapter moves the story forward a little bit. After all, there is a big improvement on Gabriel's part and Claire's really getting to know him beyond his geeky appearances and OMG he finally lets her visit his apartment? The totally no-go area before? This is a first for him (and for Claire, since she's about to be the first person in history of mankind to step inside whatever Gabriel's been hiding in his loft).

Another thing: I'm kind of worried that this story might be moving too slowly (or too fast), I dunno. It'd be great if I could hear some thoughts on this. I have an idea of what I'm going to do for the next chapters, I'm just not sure about the pacing. Do you guys think this fic is ok at the rate it is going?

Plus: Harold the cat will be making his first appearance in the next chapter. Think it's another bonus for you guys to keep reading (apart from the very obvious fact that Gabriel has just allowed Claire to enter his apartment)?

Thanks so much for your time to read this fic. Love you guys.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: As promised, the fourth chapter. Claire makes a discovery, Gabriel makes a decision, Ian makes a mistake and tries to fix it. All in all, I'm not sure how this one turned out. At first I thought it was going to be epic, but then...ehhh...I dunno. It's up to you, my dear readers, to decide. Things are speeding up a bit from this point onwards, that is for certain. And yes, Harold will make his novel appearance in this chapter!

* * *

Chapter 4

Gabriel held the door for her as she tiptoed timidly into his apartment. Like a gentleman, she thought, a slight triumphant smile decorated her lips.

"Shoes," Gabriel murmured behind her. She turned her head and saw him bending down, removing his shoes and placed them on a rack near the door. "Oh, sorry," she whispered, before proceeding to do the same. A blush crept to her cheeks, thinking how surreal this whole situation was.

It was not until she heard the door click behind her did she realize the gravity of her position.

Time hung right there and then, encircling the both of them as she breathed in the scent of the spacious loft that was laid before her, of vanilla and cinnamon and spice...and everything that screamed Gabriel Gray. It was better than she could have ever dreamed of. His apartment was fundamentally larger than hers. The fairly huge apartment she shared with Ian was avant-garde, but this...

The sheer size of it overwhelmed her; the quirkiness of it enticed her. Still, the idiosyncrasy of Gabriel's home had lingering traditional values that she couldn't quite place. For a self-proclaimed techie, she did not predict this at all.

Packed bookshelves adorned every corner of every wall she laid eyes on. She did not have to assume that they were not all there as mere meaningless ornaments. She had the rights to believe that Gabriel had read every single page of every single book in the room. In truth, the loft was compartmentalized by more bookshelves, dividing the single, roomless space into several subspaces. Like a labyrinth.

She captured all of these _beautiful_ images at the back of her mind, absolutely knowing that 'beautiful' was an understatement.

A cosy living area with a huge plasma TV on the wall, flanked by a vast collection of music and movies dating from the 1920s. A kitchen-slash-dining area. A homemade Quiche Lorraine leftover from yesterday's dinner sitting on the stove. An unfinished cup of Earl Grey beside today's newspaper, laid carelessly on the dining table. Harold's empty dinner bowl. A wooden chair with Harold's scratch marks all over it, next to a table of a chess game still in progress.

White was losing.

She turned to the right and saw his bedroom; or something akin to a bedroom. A telescope by the window, she noted.

Gabriel cleared his throat. "How did you find the view so far, Claire?"

She was at a loss for words. Neither did she have any valour left to face the inquisition. "Gabriel," was all she was able to mutter, after witnessing so much.

"Yes?"

"It's gorgeous," she whispered in amazement as she turned to look at him. He was slouching a bit, like a child who was afraid that he would be punished for a petty crime. His hands still in his pockets, front teeth biting into his lower lip she swore he could have drawn blood.

He was nervous as hell. A train wreck waiting to burst in flames.

"I enjoyed it. Every inch, every corner of it. It's gorgeous," she beamed gregariously.

Slowly, he took his left hand out of his pocket and gestured towards the kitchen, attempting to return an equally gregarious smile. "Breakfast?"

--

This was a big step for him. Having a guest in his home. That was a first.

Serving a meal. He reminded himself that serving breakfast to Claire Petrelli was not in any way similar to feeding Harold, as cutlery clattered noisily against china. When was the last time he was this jumpy?

"You don't have to do this," she furrowed her brows when a plate almost slipped from his hands. "Let me help," she offered.

"No," he insisted, "you are my guest. Social normalcy dictates that I should do this myself," he said while pouring freshly brewed coffee into a delicately hand-painted china cup. An untouched block of butter and slices of bread were served on an equally antique-looking porcelain platter. "The toaster is over there," Gabriel pointed over at the counter, before taking a seat at the opposite end of the table.

His fingers were conspicuously shaky as he held his butter-knife. Claire tried really hard to stifle that giggle, really, she did. "It's just me," she comforted him. "I'm not going to bite your head off," she pledged unequivocally.

"Right, of course," his eyes shifted gawkily, before gazing hesitantly at her through long eyelashes. Studying the movement of her masseter muscle, as she chewed on her food assiduously.

"I believe I have revealed much about myself in one day," he squeaked. "It is only fair to say that it is now your turn to reveal a new information about yourself during this exchange."

"Alright," she wiped the corner of her upturned lips with a serviette, "what information do you want me to illuminate for you?" Claire grinned, furtively admitting that _Gabrielspeak_ was infectious.

"You told me earlier that entering law school was not your choice. Am I correct in hypothesizing that it was a family agreement?"

Claire's grin immediately disappeared. She sipped her coffee and placed the cup back on its plate with a soft 'clank', before giving him a reluctant nod. "My dad didn't want me to turn into my uncle," she confessed. "My grandma sided with him. Told me that it was the only way to maintain our family's dignity."

"Your uncle?"

"Peter," she smiled wryly. "He was a nurse. Now a paramedic."

"Oh."

"Dad was so mad when I told him I wanted to do biology at a non Ivy League college," she said ruefully. "But hey, look at the bright side. If I hadn't come here, I wouldn't have met Ian." The statement was countered by an unsettling 'hmph' from Gabriel's side of the table.

"And if I hadn't met Ian, I wouldn't have met you," she added impishly.

Gabriel almost choked on his toast.

They had fought over who would wash the dishes for at least 15 minutes, before he gave in and sat fidgeting at the table, watching as she worked at the sink. When she announced that all was done, he neared her and inspected every plate, searching for signs of stains she might have missed.

To his absolute dismay, there was none. And she was smug about it, even though she should feel offended at his inability to trust her handiwork. She was so used to have him at least standing one foot away from her, one inch less and she became painfully hypersensitive of his nearness.

"I-I s-should go back now," she stuttered. She ambled hurriedly towards his front door, stopping short only to let Gabriel open the door. He tipped his head, not managing to catch her gaze as she said, "Am I permitted for another visit?"

"It depends," he opened the door widely, "on --,"

_"Meow."_

"Claire?"

Gabriel and Claire's eyes widened as they switched their utmost attention to the man standing in front of his door, with a violently growling cat fighting ferociously to get out from his hold.

"Harold??"

"Ian?"

* * *

Gabriel did not realize that he had been holding his breath until Claire and Ian left his sight. Harold mewled in his arms, the little orange Abyssinian furball snuggling affectionately against his chest, in an attempt to show Gabriel how much the cat missed him. "There, there," Gabriel muttered; scratching Harold's head gently as he re-entered his loft, his mind still reeling from what had just occurred a few minutes ago.

Claire had stood ramrod straight then; stunned, when Ian returned the poor, confused cat back to its rightful owner. "Mrs Sloman's son 'catnapped' Harold," had been Ian's explanation, with a cynical smile sketched on his face, his voice dripping with disdain. Something in Ian's clouded eyes had given Gabriel the idea that Claire needed to vindicate herself when she returned home. Hence, Gabriel had stepped up and did the inexorable – he had spoken up first to break the tension.

"I believe that Mrs Sloman was the one who asked you to return Harold to me?"

"Yes. She was very angry when she found out that Elliot had been keeping your cat in his bedroom for at least a week. Turned out Elliot wanted a pet cat of his own, but Mrs Sloman said no. And she didn't return Harold to you in person because," he had said pointedly, "she doesn't want to bother you." His answer might have been directed towards Gabriel, but his icy gaze had never left Claire.

'An alpha-male, who is enormously protective of his potential mate,' Gabriel had thought contritely, because Ian's expression could have easily resembled a snarl. He had felt as if he was on one of those Animal Planet documentaries. Never had he seen Ian wore that expression before. Beside the point, he could not believe that Harold was just a floor below him all this while, probably playing hide-and-seek with that freckly Sloman boy.

"What are you doing here?" Ian had asked Claire afterwards, trying to maintain that pearly-white smile.

"My camera needs fixing," Claire had told him boldly. Not a lie. Gabriel's ears had perched in panic.

"Of course," Ian ground his teeth together. "He fixes things."

Gabriel had not known why Ian had to point out obvious, yet trivial facts such as that. Must be part of a human speech called 'sarcasm', he had inferred.

"Don't you think that you might've interrupted Gabriel's Saturday schedule?"

Claire had gaped at Ian's sudden hostility. He wasn't usually like this, especially with Gabriel around, because she knew that Ian too had asked for the geek's help multiple times before.

"I do not mind having my schedule interrupted," Gabriel had piped in. "Particularly if it entailed matters such as..." he had paused, fixing his eyes on the purring ball of fur in his arms, "...helping a _friend._"

Claire had gasped. He had called her 'friend', even if it was spoken indirectly.

Gabriel had pretended as if he had not heard her.

--

Precisely 37 minutes later, after feeding Harold (the poor, starved cat that he was) and lulling him to his daily afternoon nap, Gabriel received an unexpected text message from Claire: _'Ian knows. He's mad.'_

He deftly typed his reply: _'Knows about what?'_

A heartbeat passed before his cell phone vibrated violently in his clammy palms. Her answer was a simple, two-lettered word.

_ 'Us.'_

He was out of his wits trying to reply to that text, because he was uncertain of what this newly retrieved information might implicate.

_'He stole my mem card n saw ur pics,'_ another text arrived.

Gabriel's attention swiftly switched to a black-and-white, candid photo of a girl on the screen of his Mac. He scrolled through the files in the recently created photo folder – the same girl in each frame; her expressions varied from one shot to the next – a diverse array of emotions captured through the lens of his camera.

_'Are you both still at home?'_ he texted the girl, the subject of his photos.

Moments passed before the phone vibrated again.

_'Yes.'_

Immediately after he read the message, Gabriel dashed downstairs, straight to Claire and Ian's apartment. Rationally, this was something only he could fix. And unlike the numerous scientifically-challenging conundrums he was accustomed to solving, he was far from able to be smug about this one.

--

As soon as Ian greeted him with a ferocious "You arsehole, give me one good reason why I should not beat the hell out of you right now," at the door, Gabriel instantly regretted his decision.

"Sir, I am not an arsehole," Gabriel swallowed.

"What do you want with Claire?"

"I wish to be her friend," Gabriel asserted adamantly.

"Are you sure? Because from the way the both of you are acting, it sure doesn't look friendly to me," Ian gnashed his teeth together, botching the last remaining flimsy threads of Gabriel's gallantry.

"That is because we have not officiated our friendship. I have only made my intention known to her earlier this morning, when you came to return Harold, to which I must express my utmost gratitude to you for doing so. An inappropriate timing, I must admit, considering the fact that Claire and I have only known each other for less than a month..." Gabriel trailed off, when he realized that Claire was already at the door, next to Ian.

"Why her? Why not pick someone else?" Ian asked dismally. His anger was slowly dying down, possibly diluted by Gabriel's ceaseless rambling.

To this question Gabriel's mind was quickly put to a halt, suddenly numbed by quite a selection of commonsensical answers to choose from. To his consternation, none of them was accurate or precise. In the end, Gabriel chose to forget logic.

"Possibly the same reason why you chose her to be your friend when you first met her," Gabriel replied hesitantly. His fingers had curled into a tight fist, his knuckles had turned whiter than white. "Because she is different," he croaked. There must be at least 6 families of butterflies breeding in his gut right now, he cringed agonizingly. His face had turned to every shade of pale; he could feel the blood draining from his cheeks. Still he had one justification left to make.

_"_She's_ special,_" Gabriel muttered, before falling haplessly to the floor; vision fading to black.

--

He woke up to a pair of blue eyes, staring back at him. "Ian."

His head felt heavy. The bright lights almost blinded him. His glasses were off, he realized, because the room felt like a blurry image to him. Rubbing his eyes, he tried to focus them on a closer object. Like the chequered patterns of the quilt mummifying him at the moment. Tried as he may, the quilt ignited his sense of smell rather than sight. With each unwavering breath he took, the unmistakable scent that filled his nostrils was essentially Claire's.

"Rest," Ian told him begrudgingly. "You were too stressed out. Claire told me everything. You can relax now."

Gabriel flinched and raised his knees to curl into a fetal position. It made him feel safer, for some unexplained reason.

"Look, Gabriel," Ian began, "I'm glad that you've finally taken the initiative to actually befriend someone for real...but secret trysts every weekend? Who wouldn't be suspicious?"

"Trysts?" Gabriel's left eyebrow rose weakly.

"Wasn't that what you guys were doing?"

"We talked. Took photos. No secret trysts," he retorted in short phrases. His brain was too convoluted to even build a proper _'Gabrielspeak'_ sentence.

Ian sighed. "Of course. I don't think anyone would want to have a secret tryst with you," he garbled to himself; voice lowered enough so the older man couldn't hear. "Except Claire. Dunno what she's thinking. Oh yeah, she's different. Special."

The acerbic imitation of his own words coming out from the Brit's mouth was not lost on Gabriel.

"Harold!" he suddenly shot up, almost tripping on the quilt that had blanketed him while he was unconscious. "Glasses," he sat back in despair, knowing well that he was beyond useless without the apparatus.

"Look," Ian grabbed a handful of his own hair, tugging slightly, "I don't care what you guys do on Saturdays. At least give me some clue so I don't go around on a wild goose chase every time she went missing."

"There are no geese at the place where Claire and I usually meet," Gabriel's brows furrowed.

Ian effectively retreated to his facepalm, headdesk mode.

And that was effectively the end of Ian and Gabriel's _ineffective_ conversation that fateful Saturday afternoon.

At least Gabriel's innocence was effortlessly established by the spontaneous geese comment.

* * *

"Exams are like, a month away," Claire told Gabriel distractedly, two weeks after their friendship was officially approved by Ian. Sitting cross-legged on the flush carpet of what Gabriel called his 'living room'; she ignored Harold who was nuzzling his forehead mindlessly against her left knee.

Gabriel watched his cat for a moment before his gaze fell on Claire's anxious face, at the same time gesturing Harold to leave the girl alone. The cat's ears perched when Gabriel called his name, and immediately scurried to his owner's lap. Gabriel gently patted Harold's head and tickled his belly. It took him one minute and 13 seconds to realize that he had not given any valid respond to Claire's previous proclamation.

"I have nothing to say, except that it is absolutely necessary for you to start revising," he replied solicitously. "That is, of course if you have not started. Revising," he added with a touch of vigilance.

"I've been locking myself up in the library for at least a fortnight now. I'm sick of revising and the all the study groups I've been going to are making me insane. Another legal term I hear and I think my brain will explode!" she ranted dolefully.

Harold simply stared at her from Gabriel's lap guardedly, as if Claire was a mad witch ready to hex his owner. He could feel Gabriel clutching him tighter with each syllable of every word uttered by the female, if that was any indication of Gabriel's anxiety.

"Meow," Harold rumbled vociferously in retort.

"This is why you have chosen to knock frantically on my door on a Friday night," Gabriel's brow arched accusingly. "Did you not discuss about this predicament with Ian? I thought he was also a Harvard law student."

"To be honest, he's more stressed out than I am. We've both been working too hard this semester."

"Have you...informed him of this impromptu visit?" Worry was evident in his voice.

Claire snickered sardonically. "Yeah. He was the one who insisted that I should come here, because he couldn't stand me freaking about exams anymore. Said that I was too paranoid. Yeah, right," she snorted. "That guy is the most competitive bloke I have ever met, and _he_ said that _I _was the one being the paranoid."

"How peculiar," Gabriel noted confoundedly. "Also, I noticed your request to be my friend on Facebook." he swallowed thickly, trying to steer the conversation away from a certain Englishman that made his blood curdle.

"Yeah, what's up with that?" Claire slapped her thighs in exasperation. "You haven't accepted me yet. I am _your friend _now, remember?"

"That fact has never escaped my mind, even for a second, Claire. Unfortunately, due to the recent cornucopia of childish games and self-promoting quizzes vandalizing my newsfeed each time I log in, I have to ask you to refrain from participating in such useless activities. If your willpower fails you, at least opt to not publish them," he pleaded excruciatingly, visibly tormented by the experience. "Also, please do not send petty virtual gift requests or place invites to join groups that do not represent my ideals. If you agree to my terms, I will add you as my Facebook friend," Gabriel elucidated sternly.

Claire's mouth went agape. The long-winded speech again. "Uh, okay. I agree..."

Gabriel squinted frowningly.

"I promise I won't do those things! I get annoyed when people do that to me too!" she exclaimed robustly to convince him that she wasn't kidding.

"Break the rules and I will disown you on Facebook," he warned gravely. He was really taking this seriously, Claire thought. She shouldn't be amused. Nope. Not amused at all.

"Do you have a twitter account? I'm just curious, you know..." she casually chimed in, trying to lighten up the mood.

"This," Gabriel scowled and pointed his index finger around his face, "is my 'I hate twitter' face."

Clearly, she had been lying to herself all this while -- she was completely, terribly, exceptionally amused.

Harold yawned.

--

There will be a certain period of time in a relationship when the brewing intensity will reach its appointed zenith, die down and fade away, before slowly gaining momentum again. With Gabriel, It was always a race between them, to see who would reach the top first before tumbling back down and getting hurt. Reaching the pinnacle seemed impossible. It was an endless slope that they had to climb, and now Claire wasn't too sure if she really wanted to go all the way to the top.

She liked it this way. A friendship that wasn't based on how much money she had in her account, or the length of her skirt, or who her father was.

Ever since they were connected on Facebook (and a few days later, instant messaging), she realized that Gabriel could be really sweet. Had it been anyone else, she'd suspect that the person might be a stalker. But Gabriel's _'Good mornings for the rest of the week, given the probability that I am unable to text you or see you in person,'_ and '_Good nights for similar reasons as the previously sent message' _had to be the most hilarious things she had read in a while, after drowning herself in a turbulent ocean of lecture notes.

They had stopped going out on Saturdays ever since Claire spoke of her exam fears. He had respected her decision, because she needed the time to revise while he needed the time to attend to Harold's quirks.

Then, two nights before her first paper, he knocked on her apartment's door, acquiescing to his destiny when Ian answered the door.

"I came to wish you both all the best in your examinations," he blurted out almost unintelligibly, before doing an awkward bow and finished with, "That is all. Harold needs me." Ian barely managed a 'thank you' before Gabriel turned away most inelegantly and ran back upstairs.

A soft ding on his Mac filled the air when Gabriel reached his apartment. A new instant message blipped on the screen.

**claire_b:** thanks for the good luck wish. J

_:_ You're welcome. Regrettably, I had wished you 'all the best', not 'good luck' as you had indicated.

**claire_b:** right. of course. my bad. sorry.

_:_ Do you not have revision to do?

**claire_b:** on a 5 min break.

_:_ I hope you will do something more useful during your 5 minute break rather than chatting with me. I shall not interrupt you any further. Take care. Good night.

He was about to stop Harold from scratching the Persian rug when his computer rang.

Webcam call from Claire Petrelli **(claire_b)**. Answer/Reject

Rolling his eyes, Gabriel clicked 'answer' and strained a "Hello, Claire," when she appeared on his screen.

"Thank you, Gabriel."

"You have conveyed your gratitude earlier. It is therefore, redundant."

"It's worth repeating."

He rolled his eyes again. He had been doing that often lately. "If you say so. Your five minutes are nearly up."

"Who's counting?"

"I am."

"Total disciplinarian, aren't you."

"Claire..."

"Fine, I'll hang up."

"Claire. You are not listening," he snapped crisply.

"Yes, Mr. Gray sir."

Gabriel's expression softened. "You really do not have the need for luck. You deserve better than just mere luck. You will do great. Trust me, Claire," he placated, his eyes twinkled with something that looked like optimism. Or maybe, the reflection of his table lamp. His voice, however, had unambiguously dropped a register than what was legal. Deeper.

Probably huskier, Claire thought, but this was Gabriel. _Gabriel Gray_ and _husky voices_ could not possibly even be in the same sentence.

Any clever reply that possibly had lingered at the tip of her tongue expediently disappeared in one pure, unadulterated moment of wonderment and shock. She didn't know he could do that. Made her forget her lines, made her stutter, made her heart skip one beat as she stared blankly at Gabriel's guiltless visage on the screen. She could only nod weakly as she whispered her reply:

"I'll remember that. Good night, Gabriel."

"Good night, my friend."

When the conversation ended, she didn't realize that she had been holding her breath; she gasped for air and wiped the sweat at her brows. "Damnit Claire," she reprimanded herself. "What the hell are you doing?"

'Trust me,' he had said.

"I do," she muttered under her breath, before forcefully shoving her head in the gigantic textbook in front of her.

_I trust you. _

* * *

A/N #2: And thus endeth the fourth chapter. First of all, I would like to ask for forgiveness if the chapter did not reach up to your expectations. However, I promise that the story will really pick up in the next chapter. Not really happy with the way Ian turned out either, but the chapter was too long to include more of him already.

Despite the hitches and glitches, I have other characters from Heroes appearing in later chapters, especially from Claire's family, which should be interesting. Also, Harold told me that he was sorry he couldn't get enough page-time in this chapter. He'll feature more prominently in the next chapter, though. ;p

Thank you for your comments, they've helped me a lot! :)

Last but not least, I would love to hear more from you. There's nothing awesomer to a writer than knowing which bits of the story the readers like best, or if there are parts that drive you guys crazy...anything at all. So give me a shout out, and I'll happily respond. XD

Until then, the 5th chapter is going to be another major turning point in Claire and Gabriel's lives. Sorta. Think that a good enough reason to keep you guys at the edge of your seats (or keyboards)?


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Guys, I love you so much for actually taking some time to read this fic. I really, really do. And your reviews are one of the reasons why I continue to write for you. Before we jump into the 5th chapter, I just want to say sorry if I haven't been able to reply to your reviews -- the site has been giving me problems since last week, I hope you'll understand :))

Also, this chapter has been one of my favorites to write. I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I had fun writing it.

On to the fic!

* * *

Chapter 5

Exam periods were always insufferably tortuous.

Gabriel made a point of not contacting her at all during the time, as if knowing that she really needed a breathing space. As if he could read right through her – understanding that she would be distracted just by listening to his footsteps walking down the hallway, passing by her apartment door to go to work, or greeting Mrs Sloman, the lady who lived right across from her (whose son stole Harold).

It wasn't as if she had been listening.

Nope. Not at all.

And when the hell did Gabriel start talking to Mrs Sloman? Most importantly, why did she not know about this?

Oh well. Maybe he was expanding his horizons. Establishing good rapport with neighbours were never a bad thing and it was never too late to start.

Claire groaned.

In the meantime, her relationship with Ian had moved on as nothing more than studying partners. Ever since the episode with Gabriel, both of them knew that they had some trust issues to settle. Ian had begged her to forgive him for rummaging through her things and looked at her photos without her consent.

The man had the right to be suspicious, Claire thought. She hadn't been frank about her hobby and how Gabriel eventually became involved with it. Ian had been furious about her inability to tell him, and she had been equally livid at Ian's irrepressible urge to pry into everything. Compressing her into a transparent, sealed vacuum container, and show her off to everyone else.

She felt asphyxiated.

All the more valid reason why she kept her awkward relationship with Gabriel a secret.

Because she _needed _to have a secret.

That plan though, was thwarted. Well. At least she didn't have to strain her mind for original thinking anymore. And certainly it was so much easier talking to Gabriel now with no pressure of getting caught. It was always fun to coax him into talking, because God knows what other things hadn't she figured out about him and she always liked to tease him a bit and watch him blush and fumble and technobabble unintelligibly and she was...addicted.

Oh, God no.

She missed him.

_She missed him. _

How long had it been since she last talked to him, let alone saw him? Three weeks? It was as if he had never existed.

In two days, she would be enfranchised from this torment. It was all she needed to know, it was all she was striving for. All she had to do was survive the last exam paper and pass. What she meant by 'pass', though, was 'pass with flying colours'. As a Petrelli, it was her duty to do so.

Two days after that she would be off to Paris with Ian for the long-anticipated summer vacation, then to London, maybe make some unplanned trips around Britain before flying back to New York to work with her dad.

Where was she going again with this reel of thought?

Oh.

What she had not anticipated was that she would miss Gabriel, of all people. And Harold. She'll miss Harold, she chuckled.

She remembered Mr Muggles, her pet dog. It wasn't actually hers, but that dog had become a significant part of her growing years. She wondered if Harold and Mr Muggles would get along if they were to become acquainted with each other. Maybe Harold would scoff at Mr Muggles for being the typical pampered celebrity dog that won awards for outrageous fur-dos and adorable tricks. And Mr Muggles would sniff Harold in bafflement, just for being Harold. Would they be friends, she pondered.

Would they be _awkward_ friends like Gabriel and her?

Four months she would be away from Cambridge. Who knew she would be poignant about it? To think that this time last year, she was more than itching to get away from here. This time last year, she had just realized that she was completely head over heels for a man from North London, eight months after they began dating. This time last year, Nathan had approved of her relationship with Ian, especially upon discovering that Ian's father was an Earl and Ian was a viscount and the rest became history.

This time, this year, she felt different. Living together with Ian made her realize so many undiscovered things about him. It hit her uneasily that she might have done the biggest mistake of her life by rushing to move in with him.

Claire groaned louder.

--

She had been trying to reach him the second she walked out from the examination hall, breathing freedom for the first time. He did not reply to her posts on Facebook, or the offline messages she left on IM. Neither did he reply to her text messages. His cell phone was off.

He wasn't at his apartment, either.

She was leaving tomorrow.

Where the hell was he?

"Are you talking to my door again?"

"Meow," Harold raised his free right paw up as if trying to say hello. The cat was held competently in Gabriel's left arm. Unless her eyes were playing tricks on her, he was also pulling a reasonably-sized luggage behind him with his other hand.

"Did you just get back from somewhere?" she queried, noticing for the first time how haggard Gabriel's appearance was. The guy must be dead tired from his journey...from where?

"I have just returned from California. Long trip," he sighed, before making his way to his apartment door.

"California?"

"CalTech. There was a symposium I had to attend," he told her as he tried to push the door open with his elbow.

She opened the door for him, then looked at Harold. "And you brought...Harold with you?"

"Oh, no. I left him with Mrs Sloman. Thought her son would like that."

"Wait. I thought she hated cats."

"She doesn't hate cats per se. She was just opposed to the idea of taking care of a cat 24/7. She didn't mind catsitting for a week, though, as long as her son was willing to do the dirty job."

"Oh. Wait a minute. A week? You went to California for a week and you didn't tell me? You could have told me!"

"I did not want to bother you with trifling information such as my travel plans. In fact you were in the middle of a very important week. To inflict you with such details when you had other things to worry about would be inconvenient and foolish."

"But you told Mrs Sloman."

"Yes."

"Gabriel."

"Yes."

"There is nothing you can't bother me about."

"Even during a distressing period such as an exam week?"

"Exam weeks," she corrected, "and you can bother me any time you want."

Gabriel's breath visibly caught after she uttered the words. "Come in," he gestured apprehensively. "What is your reason for talking to my door this time?"

"For the record, I wasn't talking to your door," she said in faux annoyance. He knew this because she was trying to suppress a laugh. "And I need to see you before I leave tomorrow."

His good-natured expression immediately changed to one that resembled disbelief and disappointment. "Oh. Tomorrow? How was your, um, exams?"

"It was alright. Can we, uh, not talk about exams?" she ran her fingers through her hair agitatedly. She hated discussing how well (or badly) she did in her exams when the results were not yet released. She could not avoid discussing it with her family; however, she would not see them until after mid-July, so she was sure the results would be out by then. As long as she didn't flunk, it would be fine.

Gabriel nodded silently, trying to balance Harold and carrying his luggage at the same time. She signalled that he could dump Harold on her, to which he happily obliged, and Harold happily welcomed the transfer. "Thanks," he mouthed, a slight smile curved on his lips.

He seemed tired and restless, dark circles noticeably shadowing under his eyes, even if he tried to hide it under his glasses. His usually immaculate hair was going in different directions, and suddenly Claire wished she had her camera with her.

Gabriel seemed more human than she remembered. Even his speech patterns were...less _Gabrielesque. _

"What time will you be leaving tomorrow?"

"Uh, my flight's at 1.20 p.m. Leaving from here probably at 12-ish...?"

"12-ish is not a time. Have you packed?"

"Uh-uh, a little more to go," she nodded vigorously, trying to look excited.

"I take it you are going back to New York?"

"Oh, no. I'm going on holiday to France with Ian. I'm going back to New York in July," she told him, before hissing in contempt at herself. There was no way she could talk about New York without asking him; "Are you going to New York at all this summer? See your mom or something?" without probably the slightest hint of desperation in her voice.

He was clearly taken aback. "I have not given it a thought," he narrowed his eyes. "But I suppose I could. It has been quite a while since I last paid her a visit."

"When was the last time you did?"

"Easter."

Something always tugged at Claire's heart when people started talking about mothers – it was just that she had never known her mother and she was always told that her father, Nathan Petrelli, wouldn't have been the man he was today if her mother hadn't died in a fire.

A fire that almost killed her, too.

Nathan Petrelli was reported to have been too distraught; he became an inconsolable drunkard for a while. That was where the Bennets come in.

Noah Bennet, the man in the horn-rimmed-glasses, one of Angela Petrelli's most trusted Company employees. And his wife, Sandra. And their son, Lyle. And of course, Mr. Muggles, their dog.

The family she would have called her own, but _couldn't._

And they used to live in California.

She missed California.

Claire lowered Harold to the floor and let him roam under Gabriel's work desk, wagging his tail frivolously. Meanwhile, Gabriel was already pulling his luggage to his bedroom, before she went up to him and took his hand in hers. "Hey, Gabriel..." she breathed heavily, unable to meet his gaze.

He gulped.

"J-just...give me a call if you ever decided to come to New York, okay?"

He narrowed his eyes, appearing to give this a deep deliberation. "I will think about it."

"July," she reminded him.

Gabriel pursed his lips and nodded feebly. His eyes shifted to her fingers that had wrapped around his own. "Claire," he attempted to pull away, "my hand." Her warm touch could have burned through his skin, bacteria colonies be damned. Where did he put his alcohol wipes anyway?

"Sorry," she let go. "I should, uh, resume packing now. Anyway," she clasped her two hands together, "Ian told me to leave our apartment keys with you," she said as she fumbled in her pockets for the keys.

"You could leave it on the table on your way out," he told her half-heartedly.

Claire placed the keys on his work desk, before she caught a glimpse of a photo of someone familiar, partially hidden behind a stack of papers on his desk. She became stunned.

He saw what she saw, and reacted fast enough to avoid any further embarrassment. He pulled the printed photo and handed it to her. "This is for you," he squirmed, as she took the photo and scrutinized it mutely.

"Oh God," she pinched the bridge of her nose and shut her eyes tightly. It was all she could do as she tried to refrain herself from wildly throwing her arms around him in a tight, spontaneous embrace. "Oh God," she echoed herself, "Gabriel, thank you so much!" Claire was vaguely aware that he was worried she might hyperventilate, as she continued to stare at the picture unblinkingly, her pink lips partially parted. "It's really pretty," she added, beaming intrepidly.

It was a candid photo of Claire, holding her camera. Her safe bet would be that Gabriel took the picture when she was focusing her lens on a squirrel chasing another, taken about the time of their second meeting. She looked far from the glitzy glamorous daughter of a politician. No, she looked like a curious little girl, determined to capture a simple yet momentous event on camera.

The clear and concise definition of who Claire Petrelli really was.

"Thank you," she whispered, stepping closer towards him. He stepped back, only to be trapped between her and his desk.

"You're welcome," he replied, gripping the sharp edge of his desk, as she watched his Adam's apple bob up and down at every quivering gulp he made. Her gaze was transfixed at the crook of his neck, the V of his collared-shirt, the old-school striped tie he was wearing (the only one he owned, apparently); wondering if anyone else ever had the chance to learn about him beyond the glasses and the insecure facade he hid under.

"I need to try something," she said, her eyes huge and earnest.

Gabriel slid away and twirled in distress. "Try what?"

Not 'what do you wish to try', or 'please be specific'. Just a terribly unsophisticated, 'try what?'

She ambled towards him and beseechingly said, "Just don't freak out," before taking a deep, _deep_ breath -- and wrapped her arms around him gingerly.

Gently. He was so fragile she was afraid he might break.

His firm stature became markedly rigid, hands unyielding at his sides, as she rested her head against his chest. She listened to his rapidly beating heart, feeling his chest rise up and down, heaving away as he tried to calm himself. At that moment, she felt that she had accomplished something remarkably colossal.

She felt tiny.

When she felt his hands grabbing her arms, she was almost sure that he would push her away. Instead, his grip loosened, one of his hands moved to rest at the small of her back. His other hand sneaked gently behind her neck, touching her shoulder fleetingly.

Like butterfly kisses.

Could it be any more obvious that he rarely ever did this sort of thing, if not never?

His heart rate began to slow down, but the opposite was happening to her. Which could not be a good sign.

Reluctantly, she pulled away and tried to convey her convoluted thoughts through words. Her voice failed her as she fought to say something. Realizing how idiotic she must have looked, she bit her bottom lip and tried blinking instead.

Which added to the awkwardness factor by ten to the power of one thousand when he did the exact same thing – blinking; and to casual observers this behaviour would have looked like two people trying to flutter their eyelids on purpose, in some sort of eyelash-batting contest.

"Claire?"

"Hmm?"

"Since you are going to France, I have a favour to ask of you."

"Anything, Gabriel," she smiled warmly.

"Could you get me a snow globe, please? From France? It is not for me, per se. It is for my mother. She collects snow globes. I think a France snow globe would cheer her up. I believe she does not own a France one yet," he narrowed his eyes, racking his brains to remember. "I trust your judgment," he added briefly, upon realizing that he was rambling incoherently. "I will also pay you back."

She patted his arm gently. "Thank you, Gabriel, but there is really no need for you to pay me anything. Consider it as a gift from me. For your mother, of course."

"Thank _you_," he tipped his head pointedly, as he bent down under his desk to pick up Harold, who all this while had been watching his owner's encounter with Claire in full concentration, because, when did he ever see Gabriel engage himself in an interaction that required physical contact with other living beings (apart from himself), and a human female at that?

If cats could talk, Harold thought profoundly, he would speak like Gabriel too. He had lived long enough with the man to pick up Gabriel's patterns of speech.

More importantly, if cats could talk, he would have cheered Gabriel on.

--

Harold continuously licked his ginger-coloured fur, cleaning them prudently to make himself look presentable. From the corner of his eyes, Gabriel was still unpacking his things; folding his shirts carefully into the sad cuboidal box he called his 'wardrobe'. Had Harold not been stolen by the Sloman kid, he wouldn't have been able to venture into Mrs Sloman's room and compare her humongous collection of clothes with Gabriel's. Clearly, despite Gabriel having the advantage of owning a larger home, she would beat him at closet sizes.

Not like that would make Harold love Mrs Sloman more. She did try to beat him with a broomstick when she found him hiding under young Elliot Sloman's bed. Thankfully she treated him nicer the second time around, after much negotiations with Gabriel.

He would love Gabriel by a tiny portion more, though, if he had gotten rid of that horrendous-looking corduroy suit. Harold remembered that he had tried urinating – no, defecating on it once. That did not deter Gabriel from sending it for dry-cleaning before wearing it again, despite Harold's various efforts to make him understand that the suit spelled not only social, but fashion disaster.

Well. Maybe the human female could knock some sense into him someday.

Gabriel was switching on his computer, now. Checking his personal emails, checking his work emails, checking his Facebook page...checking hers.

Harold decided this would be a perfect time to switch off tonight for a perky tomorrow, as he climbed into his comfy basket. Sweet dreams, he purred to himself.

He wished Gabriel the same, too, if not better.

* * *

She had boarded the plane with a heavy heart, Paris be damned. As she walked through the aisle behind Ian searching for their seats, she caught a glimpse of a tall guy with dark hair and glasses fumbling with his luggage...

'Goddamnit Claire, of course it's not him!' she told herself in reproach, before making her way to her appointed seat. By the window. Great.

"Claire," Ian held her wrist when she was putting on her seatbelt, "I think we really need to talk. You've been giving me the silent treatment since this morning," he said worriedly.

"I'm fine, Ian. I really am," she pulled away, turning her head to watch the view from her window.

"You're not fine. Whatever it was that I've done this time, I'm sorry, alright?" he tried to hold her hand again this time, which was unmet with resistance. At this, he breathed a thankful sigh.

"It's not you," she tilted her head apologetically; "it's me," Claire patted the back of Ian's hand and shrugged.

"What is it?" Ian nudged her gently; reverting back to the sensitive, understanding confidant Claire fell in love with. He realized that he had been a twat most of the time since he found out about Gabriel, and worsened during the exam period – but he was ready to start anew. If she would just give him a chance...

"Do you think we're moving too fast?" she suddenly blurted out. Ian's grip on her hand tightened. He knew this day would come, but not now. Not when they were going to embark on a romantic Parisian vacation where he was determined to make Claire fall in love with him all over again.

"What? I think we're moving okay," his brows knit together in bewilderment. "What made you think that?"

She shook her head in frustration. "Me, moving into your apartment...I think it's a mistake."

"Why are we talking about this now?" Ian muttered under his breath in disbelief.

"You said you wanted to talk. We are talking," Claire countered back, trying to suppress her bubbling resentment.

Ian let his grip on Claire's hand go. "Not about this," he whispered. "Not now."

Claire stared at him, rolling her eyes. "Then what do you want to talk about? How awesome our trip to the City of Love is going to be?"

Her sarcasm sliced through him, her glare made it much worse. "Claire, please don't make this harder than it already is..."

"It's not hard. All you have to do is listen to me, not just hear me out, Ian," her tone softened as a stewardess walked past them. "Just listen to what I have to say before you cross-question me."

Ian's expression hardened, before he eventually gave in. "Okay, Claire. I'm listening. Tell me."

"I've only moved in with you for two months, Ian. And I'm already feeling uncomfortable. I thought that living with you was the best decision I've made for myself since...forever. But only two months in...I don't think I can do it. Not yet, at least," she pleaded.

"Why?"

"I've always told you that I'm scared of being alone. I'm sure you must be sick of it by now," she scoffed. Ian rubbed her arm soothingly and chuckled a "Never sick of it," before she managed a contemplative smile. "It's one of the reasons why I moved in with you. Because I want someone to lean on. Someone to support me, because as independent as I want to be, I still have this phobia of being...alone," she confessed.

"That was why I asked you to move in with me. Because I want to be that person," Ian responded as he wrapped one arm around her shoulder. Claire leaned against him, trying to relax herself against his arm.

"You could still be that person, Ian. But as of now, I don't think it's working out the way we wanted," Claire sighed. She could feel his breath caught when she spoke the words.

"What do you mean? Are you...breaking up with me?" Ian realized how insecure he sounded, but he could not care less. She couldn't possibly. Not when he'd prepared an elaborate plan to seduce her again, to let her know how much he had missed her...even though she was just right beside him.

"No," Claire's eyes widened, "No, no, no," she tried her best to convince him that she wasn't dumping him. No, she couldn't. She wouldn't. Not like this. "I'm not breaking up with you, Ian. All I'm saying is, we need some time apart. And by apart, I mean, by not living together. I need my own space, my own breathing room."

"Oh, Claire..." he whispered as his fingers moved to caress her cheeks, travelling southwards to the side of her neck. His thumb finally rested on her chin, tilting her head upwards with the gentlest force – in order for her to look at him. "I'm sorry," Ian swallowed; his voice thick with unease, worried that she was drifting further away from him. "I'm sorry," he murmured again.

"You know what?" Claire smiled triumphantly, "I think I'm not afraid to do this by myself anymore. I've just realized that I can survive on my own. I don't want to be so...needy anymore."

"But Claire," Ian frowned, "what if you're wrong?"

She ran her fingers through the short strands of his hair, never had she felt this confident of herself. "No, Ian. I understand a lot of things now. I understand myself better than I ever could. I'm not scared anymore. And I know that at least, this time, this is the right thing to do."

Ian smiled wryly. "Yes. Yes, of course."

He was being pushy again. It was in his nature to assert his dominance...to the point where he did not know where to stop. In the courtroom or at home, with Claire.

Maybe this was the right thing to do.

Maybe _not_, if his neighbour from apartment 7 had anything to do with this.

--

When they arrived at their hotel in Paris, Claire made it a point to check into separate rooms.

* * *

_Why did she hug me? Why did I hug her back?_

_Why did she ask me to befriend her? Why did I agree?_

Gabriel removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, sighing penitently. He could have easily fallen asleep just by placing his forehead on his desk, especially after the anomalous event that had occurred.

The only person who had ever hugged him was his mother.

_I do not know. Yet. _

_What I do know, is this: _

_Claire Petrelli is an anomaly. _

_--  
_

_To be continued...  
_

* * *

A/N#2: That concludes the 5th chapter. Something is happening. They're beginning to see it. She's beginning to feel it. He's still thinking about it. Damn, even Harold has his shippers' goggles on.

I hope this chapter moves the story forward at a slightly faster pace, but not completely rushed. AND THEY HUGGED!!!!

Plus, if anyone gets the France snow globe reference (which is kind of obvious, btw), you'll win the Internet. For real. XD


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: The story will now fast forward a bit to a few weeks after Claire's big decision. It's suffice to say that this chapter happened in New York. And...prepare yourself for some major fluff ahead. God, I dunno what has happened to me. _

* * *

Chapter 6

_Early August_

Gabriel sat in the kitchen, weighing his options of either wolfing down the tuna sandwich in front of him or feeding it to Harold, who was wagging his tail hungrily under the table. In the end, he decided to eat the sandwich anyway, telling Harold apologetically that he would fix something special for him later.

"Are you not going to eat anything, mother?" he asked, after swallowing a bite.

Virginia Gray appeared from the hallway, entering the kitchen as Gabriel followed her every movement from the corner of his eyes. "No, you eat. You must be hungry."

"Not really," he paused, "but Harold might be."

"Oh, you poor little thing," she cooed to the little orange monster now hiding between Gabriel's feet, making him squirm. "If you had told me earlier that you were coming with Harold I would've bought cat food," she told him curtly, as she peered inside the food cabinets in search for something Harold could eat.

"Don't worry mother. I will feed him later. He eats everything," Gabriel assured her, taking another huge bite from the sandwich. "Please," he insisted. "Have a seat."

Virginia's frail hands quit fumbling, Gabriel noticed, before she wiped them on a towel, took a deep breath, smiled and pulled a chair. "Gabriel," his mother began, "you don't seem to be yourself."

He pushed his plate forward, grimacing at where this conversation may lead to. "How so?"

"You ate the tuna sandwich I made you, for a start," her smile widened.

"A very astute observation, mother," he took a sip of hot coffee from his mug, "despite it not being useful."

"There is something on your mind. Is it about work? Are they treating you well? Working with all those robots must have taken its toll on you. You've got to go out and meet real people, talk to them, instead of locking yourself with your cat all the time. If you've only stayed in New York and –,"

"Work at the bank?" Gabriel's left eyebrow arched knowingly, because he had memorized her mother's speech since he graduated from college. "Mother, by now you, of all people should have known where my true career path lies. And the bank is definitely out of the question –," he cut her off, only to be cut off by her again.

"Alright, Gabriel. Not the bank, but you could have stayed in New York...?" Virginia's eyes pierced through him, making him feel guilty for raising a fraction of his voice higher than he should have.

"Mother, you are contradicting yourself. You told me go out, meet real people. I moved to Massachusetts and did exactly what you told me to," he mused broodingly. "For the first time in my life I was given some respect for what I do. So please, mother. Isn't that enough?"

"If you feel that it is enough for you, there is nothing left for me to say," she stood up, taking his hand in hers, pulling him to his feet. He was at least one or two heads taller than her. He had forgotten how tiny his mother was. She cupped his face and smoothed his hair with the pads of her fingers, compelling him to look at her straight in the eyes. "Did you just have a haircut?"

"But," Gabriel piped in, completely ignoring her, "I could be something more. Something special? Perhaps," he waved his hand dismissively, "become the President, no matter how illogical it might be?" He knew his mother long enough to express her concerns through his own lips.

Her hands rested behind his neck as she stood on her tiptoes in an attempt to kiss his cheek. He lowered his head so she could reach him, and pulled his mother closer for a wobbly, self-conscious hug.

"Oh, Gabriel," she spoke in a sing-song voice, "Don't be silly. Of course not the President. Even I know you're not cut out for that," she moved to kiss his other cheek and rubbed it absent-mindedly with her thumb. Smoothing the creases of his cardigan, she was unaware of the flustered look on her son's face.

"I was making a joke," he said suddenly, crisp and deadly serious. "Turned out I have a real, non-imaginary friend who happened to be a Senator's daughter. I thought this might be an interesting fact you would like to know..."

Virginia's eyes lit up. "Oh, that is wonderful! Who is she?"

"Claire Petrelli. Daughter of Senator Nathan Petrelli. I take it you have heard of him, if not her?"

"Oh. I didn't vote for him," Virginia stammered apprehensively. "But still, Gabriel, this is wonderful news! When can I meet her?"

_She wants to meet Claire?_

Gabriel fell back to his chair, the last Joules of his auxiliary energy drained. Harold tried to climb up onto his lap, scratching his pants, causing him to groan inwardly.

He still had to feed his cat.

--

"Hello, Claire," he muttered into the phone.

"Gabriel!!!!" the voice at the other hand screeched madly, causing him to hold the receiver four inches from his ear. When he was certain that the excitement had died down, he hesitantly pressed it back to the shell of his ear, only to hear his name being spoken again. "Gabriel? You there?"

"Yes."

"Where are you right now?"

"New York," he replied simply. "I have every reason to believe that you are too, in New York, yes?"

Claire's gasp indicated that he would have to wait another 5 full seconds before he would finally get his answer.

"You're in New York?"

Alright. Maybe 10 seconds. "Yes. Are you?"

A pause. "Yeah, yeah I am."

"I am at my mother's apartment."

"I'm at my grandma's."

Another pause. Longer.

"How long have you been here?"

"Just arrived this morning."

"Wow, this is unbelievable."

"It _is_ unbelievable. She wanted to meet you."

"Sorry?"

"My mother. She wanted to meet you."

"What??"

--

"I told her that the chances of you meeting her would be rather slim; however, I could not quote the precise figures before I meet you myself," Gabriel tilted his head from side to side, before engulfing the little ice-cream spoon into his mouth, shutting his eyes tightly in case of brain freeze.

"Hello, Gabriel," Claire's eyes widened, wondering how a guy could possibly start a conversation with a sentence as long as that. Especially if those words made up the first line one says to another, after two months worth of separation.

"Hello, Claire," he replied, voice slightly muffled, before swallowing.

This was a sight she had never seen before. Not that it was unwelcomed, though; not when Gabriel was concentrating on his little bowl of vanilla ice-cream with rainbow sprinkles on top, instead of a friend he had not seen for two months – not that Claire felt unappreciated, far from it.

This was a sight she could enjoy watching simply because it was adorable.

Vanilla ice-cream with sprinkles. Who knew?

What she did not notice however, was how Gabriel was staring back at her, blinking at a speed of twice per second, ice-cream spoon still lodged in his mouth, before he pulled it out and called her name for the third, maybe fourth time. "Claire?"

"Yes. Yes, Gabriel. Sorry."

"For a second I thought you were the one who suffered from brain freeze," he commented ingenuously. "Do you want some ice-cream? I can get it for you from over there," he pointed with the spoon.

"Uh, no. Thanks," she replied, slightly confused at Gabriel's unexpected affability. Two months of not seeing each other, and she was the one who had transformed into a social disaster.

"You were late by 12 minutes, by the way," he arched his eyebrow slightly, in a look that could have resembled a smirk.

When did she become so inarticulate?

"The cab was stuck in traffic," she explained, before taking a seat next to him. He scooted a few inches away. The old Gabriel hadn't changed after all, although...

"Did you just cut your hair?" she asked.

He nodded as he glomped (if that was even a real word) another spoonful of ice-cream.

No wonder he looked different.

"Gabriel, could you extend your arms to your sides for a while?" she queried mischievously.

"Why?"

"Just do it."

So he did, with the ice-cream bowl held in one hand and his spoon in the other.

And she hugged him as tightly as she could, before he could jump or flinch or scream.

He did none of those things. Instead, he stiffened (which was the most logical course of action for him, as always), before hugging her back.

Gabriel. Hugged. Her. Back.

In front of all these people, in the middle of Kirby Plaza, Gabriel Gray hugged her.

"I'll probably need some ice cream after all," she smiled against his chest.

--

"I see that you've familiarized yourself with the concept of hugging," she teased him.

"I found the gesture to be very comforting, despite it clearly pervading my personal space," he defended himself. It was her turn to have ice cream regardless of her initial decline, and he offered to pay for it. An act of courtesy to treat a friend, he reminded himself. "How are you?"

"Peachy," she grinned. "You?"

"Trying to figure out the significance of a fruit taken in context of my question."

Claire's grin slowly manifested itself as giggles.

"You are truly moving out from the building, are you not?" he asked, his voice coated with a layer of melancholy.

Her laughter faltered, before shrugging and looked away glumly. "Yeah. It's for the best. I'm still looking for a new apartment. Do you know any good ones around Cambridge?"

Gabriel crossed his arms and shook his head. "Forgive me. I do not. However, I may assist you to search for one," his eyes gleamed earnestly. To be honest, to say he was surprised at Claire's abrupt decision to move out of Ian's apartment remained an underestimation. By the end of June, he was already 83.4% certain that Claire's relationship with Ian was not as stable as when he first met the couple in mid-April. Upon witnessing Claire's Facebook status change from 'In a relationship with Ian Farquhar' to 'It's complicated' two weeks after she left London for New York, it had strengthened his theory.

She had less time to log into her instant messaging service account after returning to New York. According to Claire from her last email, she had too many social functions to attend, too much work in her father's office to be completed. It was in the same email that she had expressed her wish to move out from Ian Farquhar's apartment.

He had fallen off his chair in astonishment before replying back, questioning her sanity in the most solicitous way possible.

Her response had come in the form of a narrative detailing her conversation with Ian on the flight to France and the many exhausting discussions they had between Paris and London. He had strained his eyes to read her unusually long email, especially after a long day at work.

Claire and Ian had mutually agreed that they should take their relationship slower – i.e.; they were going to try and minimize their interactions with one another during the summer break before 'hooking up again' (yes, those were Claire's own words, and _yes_, he had just reused it) when the new semester started. That much Gabriel was able to surmise.

"Regarding your last email," his posture straightened, "how did Ian take the news of your decision to move out?"

She swallowed a spoonful of her vanilla ice-cream. "He didn't take it well at first. But he eventually accepted it."

Gabriel fell silent as he watched her fiddle with her spoon, toying with the melting ice-cream inside the plastic bowl. "May I inquire the preliminary date of which you are going to move out?" he asked, trying to sound as disinterested as possible.

Claire could read right through him. "Wow. Are we playing 20 questions or something?"

He made a 'what do you even mean by that?' face, causing her to titter.

"Geez, I dunno yet. As soon as I find some apartments to look at, I'm gonna go back to Cambridge and make my choice. I'll move my things after that," she replied. "Time for me to ask you some questions," her eyes glinted.

Gabriel arched his brows smugly and said, "Bring it on," complete with a 'come hither' gesture. Claire covered her face with her palms, trying to control a most unladylike laughter, yet to no avail. Tears ran down her cheeks as she shook her head, still snickering away. "Oh, what has gotten into you?"

"I'm afraid you will have to be more specific," he said distraughtly, wondering what could have been so humorous.

"You're different. I mean, I've noticed this at the time we last met. When you just came back from CalTech, remember?"

"Uh-uh..."

"You're different," she repeated again, melting ice-cream forgotten. Gabriel noticed it, but refused to say a word. This conversation was only beginning to become more interesting with every passing minute.

"Again, Claire, you have failed to define what was so different about me. Curiously, even my mother told me the same thing."

She wiped the corner of her eye with the pad of her thumb. "How do I even begin to explain this," she pondered blithely.

"You could start with my haircut," he replied indifferently.

She pouted slightly, earning her a condemnatory glower from Gabriel.

"Your haircut is one thing. Your...behaviour is another. You've become less uptight. You make facial expressions. You picked up daily conversational lingo and used it unflinchingly as if you've been using them for years!"

Realization dawned on Gabriel's face, his hands gripping the fabric at the knees of his pants tightly as he processed what Claire just told him.

"Oh, no. Don't panic, Gabriel, please?" Claire held his wrists, pinning them down to his thighs. She lowered her head and murmured serenely, "It's okay. You haven't changed completely, and I wouldn't want you to change completely. But those little, tiny traits you picked up? They're really, really cute. As surprised as I was, I really loved it. Changes make us less...boring."

"I am boring," he stated almost robotically.

"No, you're not boring. You're not. Remember what I told you before? That you are the most interesting man I've ever met? That statement still stands, Gabriel."

His gaze fell on their entwined hands on his lap. For the first time he was unable to think about transferable bacteria colonies or dead skin cells.

_What have I done with my life?_

"May I ask you another question?"

"Please do," he said, tentatively switching his gaze to her face, studying her soft features.

She took his hesitance as an indicator to interlace their fingers together, gasping slightly as her fingers slid between his. "You keep asking me how Ian feels about me moving out. How do _you_ feel?"

Timidly, he rubbed his thumb against the back of her hand, interlaced fingers tightened. "Can you rephrase the question, please?"

"No, I can't, Gabriel. The question remains."

"Then I cannot give you a definitive answer."

"Alright," she pried his fingers open, tracing the lines on his palm. "I am going to tell you how I feel, then."

His eyes shot up.

"I am going to feel free. Liberated. Because I finally get to live on my own, because I know I can do it. Just like you. You opened my eyes to a lot of things that I was blind to. But you know what the downside is?"

He was as still as a statue, holding his breath. Because he knew the answer.

"You're not going to be my neighbour anymore. And I fear I'm going to miss that the most."

He grimaced. "An irrational fear. We are still friends."

"We are still friends," she nodded. "And we will still see each other. Take photos together at our secret garden. And I could pay you a visit sometime. Bring cupcakes, perhaps."

"A tub of vanilla ice-cream," he blurted out.

"With sprinkles on top?" she chipped in.

"Affirmative. I could teach you how to fix watches, in addition to consuming an assortment of delectable desserts."

"When are you going back to Cambridge?" she handily changed the topic, upon feeling a familiar, unwanted lump rising in her throat.

"Monday afternoon. I took a day off work," he explained promptly.

"Missed your mom that much, huh?" Claire commented; one warm hand clutched between both of Gabriel's cold ones, while the other reached for her bowl of melting ice-cream.

He dodged the rhetorical question by giving her clasped hand a little squeeze, before letting it go.

"Before I forget, I have something for your mother," she rummaged through her tote bag. "Please tell her I'm sorry I couldn't meet her today. Gotta be at the office in half an hour," she sighed regretfully. "I really want to meet her. Despite my initial superfluous reaction," she said while pulling out a white gift box from her bag and handed it to him. "Careful. It's fragile."

"Thank you Claire. I am correct to infer that this is a France snow globe, yes?"

"Yup," she grinned amiably. "I hope she'll love it. In the meantime," she pulled a rumpled shiny gift bag out of thin air, "this is for you."

He was dumbfounded. "Uh, you really should not have bought me a gift. I did not ask--,"

She dumped the bag onto his hands anyway. "Just take it."

He stared at the bag confusedly. "I do not know what to say, Claire..."

"You don't have to say anything. Open it," she nudged him.

He pried the bag open and took out a black silk necktie, adorned with gray-silver stripes. His mouth went agape upon examining the label. "Giorgio Armani?"

"At least it's a step up from the miserable tie you have at home," she insisted. "And," she took the tie from his fumbling hands, placing it against his chest, "it looks good on you."

"Claire," he began.

"Shh."

"But --,"

"Gabriel," she warned him succinctly.

There were so many facts he wished to clarify. For instance, he rarely wore ties, much less an Armani one. His wages would not permit him to even purchase an Armani silk tie. Perhaps the last statement was a bit of a stretch, but the truth was infinitely precise: he was not the kind of man tailored to wear such fashion appendages.

He kept mum, except for three words that rolled off his tongue as easily as he could recite the equation to calculate Young's modulus.

"Thank you, Claire."

"You're welcome," she winked. "I wonder when I'll get to see you wear it."

He blushed so hard he could have transformed into a beetroot.

--

"Ohh," was all Virginia managed to utter as she held the snow globe in her hands. "It's a shame she couldn't be here," she said as she shook the globe, then positioned it upright on the table, watching faux glittery snow fall upon Eiffel Tower.

Gabriel's fixed his gaze upon the ornament before turning away, only to be met by an array of snow globe collection – he really needed to retrieve one from Oregon soon; it was the only one left to complete the States. "It is reasonable. She is very busy," he told her from across the room. "Where is Harold?"

"He is in your room, sleeping," she polished the glassed dome before adding; "This might be my favourite one yet."

"Each new one you get becomes an instant favourite," Gabriel mumbled before stepping inside his room, locating Harold's whereabouts. He paused when he saw the orange tabby lying on his sides, sleeping soundly – moving only to scratch his itchy head, before becoming still again. And snored.

He went outside to find his mother still inspecting the Eiffel Tower snow globe, stroking it dotingly. "Mom?"

"Gabriel, honey," she sniffed, "I'm glad you've managed to make a friend out of somebody. I'm just scared that you'd end up alone like me."

"You are not alone. You still have me," he countered flippantly.

"I know, Gabriel. But that's not what I mean. Ever since your father left -- _died_," she corrected herself, "things become...dreadfully empty, and you moved away..." she touched his face with trembling hands.

He caught on the slip of her tongue, but ignored it for the time being. In fact, he himself was curious at how easier it had become to read the subtlest gestures, catch the smallest hints. Maybe he was really evolving.

"Mother," he sighed, before he felt his cell phone vibrating in his pocket. He did not hide his surprise when he saw the name on the screen. "Um," he put a finger up to Virginia, "I need to...take this call," his eyebrows knit when he pressed the accept button.

"Gabriel Gray speaking," he whispered into the phone, a throatier growl than it should have sounded like. The conversation with his mother had made him slightly anxious, whatever irrelevant point she was trying to make.

"Hey," the all-too-recognizable voice at the other end greeted him cheerfully, and a tad breathless.

"Hey...?" he replied back, befuddled.

"What's your mother's home address?"

"Why would you need this information, if you do not mind me asking?"

He could almost hear her smile.

"Gabriel," the voice seeped with thrilling anticipation, "I'm coming."

--

_to be continued..._

* * *

A/N#2: Ice cream porn. More hugs. Gabriel's inability to express his feelings. More hugs. Claire got him a gift.

And did I mention ice cream?

Also...for anyone who's wondering what the France snow globe reference is, it's actually from the S3 episode 'I am Sylar', when he broke the Eiffel Tower snow globe, before shapeshifting into Virginia who told him that the France snow globe was her favorite.

Plus: Harold the cat's name is taken from Zachary Quinto's own pet cat name. Yup. His cat's name is Harold. XD

Anyway. A certain Petrelli will make his first appearance in the next chapter. And he's very, very curious to what Claire is up to. Think you can guess who it is? ;p

Until next chapter, I look forward to hearing your thoughts!


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: As promised, the 7th chapter is here. Things are going to go down a different direction from now on...(or at least this is a start). There have been many plot bunnies throwing themselves at me these past few days, but I decided to take this route. I mean, it's not going to have that much of a negative impact of Gabriel and Claire's relationship or anything, but I have a feeling that this fic is getting darker than when I first started writing it. It was supposed to be a lighthearted take on what would have happened if Gabriel and Claire were raised differently and took different paths in their lives. Fate, however has ordained something else entirely (or hasn't it?)  
_

_Oh gosh. I'm being angsty here, am I not?_

_Let's give it a try now, shall we?_

* * *

Chapter 7

"Who were you talking to?" a tenor voice snapped her out from her reverie, making her jump out of fright.

"Gosh, Peter! You scared me!" Claire shrieked; her palms unconsciously clasped to her rapidly racing heart.

Peter chuckled. "Never seen you grin that wide. Don't tell me it's Ian. Please?" his tone slightly worried.

Claire chucked her phone onto the fluffy sofa and gave him a cynical stare. "No," she enunciated thoroughly.

"Then who is it? Noah?"

Claire sighed and tilted her head bemusedly. "No," she said again. "It is quite unlikely that you are going to guess this one accurately."

He chuckled again, although dumbfounded by Claire's recently acquired pattern of speech. "Then I'm not going to," he said ostensibly, although a smirk began to emerge at the corners of his lips, his curious gaze never leaving Claire's flushed face.

"What?" she snapped at him, when he realized that she was about to do something...crazy.

"Ahhh...you're up to something," he lowered his eyelids, sneering conspiratorially. "Or you wouldn't be this crabby." His comment earned an 'ugh' from Claire, who decided she should just give in and share her little secret.

"Fine. I'm going to visit a friend, that's all."

"A _special_ friend," Peter added, that stubborn smirk still plastered on his face.

"A friend," Claire reiterated forebodingly.

"A guy friend," he changed his tactics, lowering his voice slightly with a hint of tomfoolery. "As long as it's not Ian, I'm fine with it."

Claire glowered. "What is it with you and Ian, anyway?"

Peter plopped on the sofa and reflected casually, "Nothing. It's just that he reminds me of Nathan. Ian is just the crasser, younger, English version of Nathan. And snobbish. And slightly more neurotic."

"He's not neurotic. And just because he's English, it doesn't automatically make him snobbish. Stop being so judgmental," she maintained without fail.

"Possessive, then," Peter countered flippantly. "Claire, I've seen how the guy treats you, how he acts when he hangs around you. I couldn't be happier when you broke up with him."

Claire's ears perked up at this development about herself that she hadn't heard about. "Who told you I broke up with him?"

Peter shut his eyes and shrugged unwittingly. Damn.

"Noah told you," she shook her head in disbelief. Peter had the decorousness to shift his eyes guiltily.

"I didn't break up with him," she explained tersely. "We had a discussion and it's decided that I should move out from his apartment. That's all. What's the big deal?"

"The big deal is," Peter began, "I can see how uncomfortable you are when he flaunts you off. And that's not the Claire that I know. You deserve much more than that," he huffed and looked up at Claire, who was studying him with an intrepid, green-eyed glare.

Her gaze softened. "I still can't believe Noah told you, though," she said, taking up a seat beside Peter on the sofa and stared at the ceiling, instead.

"I can't believe that I had to wait for Noah to tell me. I can't believe that you didn't tell me yourself," Peter leaned forward, reprimanding her light-heartedly.

"Well, I certainly didn't tell him about this friend I'm about to visit, if that's going to cheer you up," she poked his shoulder, causing him to jerk away. Eventually, his wince was replaced by _the_ smirk again.

"Hmm. So, what about this mysterious friend of yours?"

"He's a guy," she muttered grudgingly, knowing well that Peter doing an 'aha!' face even if she wasn't looking at him.

"Aha," Peter remarked accordingly to what she had predicted. Claire rubbed her temples, snickering faintly at their synchrony.

"And he's about your age."

The statement drew an unappreciative look from Peter, who eyed her incredulously.

"What now?"

"Isn't that a little bit too old for you?"

Claire grabbed a plush pillow from behind her and hit Peter with a soft 'thud' on his shoulder, causing him to break into a hearty laugh. "I'm just saying the truth!"

"He's just a friend. It's not like I'm dating him," she hit him again, this time right smack on his head. "And don't you have some lifesaving to do?"

"Okay, okay, I'm just kidding. My shift is not going to start in at least 4 hours," he clutched his chest, gasping for air after that burst of hysterics. "So. Does this guy have a name? Where does he live anyway?" Peter frowned, suddenly serious.

"His name's Gabriel. He's Ian's neighbour in our Cambridge apartment. Soon to be my ex-neighbour," Claire narrowed her eyes, trying to figure out whether her words made any sense.

"Uh-uh," Peter nodded as her description began to sink in. "And...?"

"He's in Queens right now, visiting his mother. Considering how rare a chance it is for me to see him again in Massachusetts, I thought I might pay him a visit now, in New York," noticing her sudden, irregular breathing. That had been a partial lie. She was going to see him again when she returned to Cambridge during fall.

At least, she hoped so.

"You're going to see him at his mother's," Peter said pointedly. It should have been phrased as a question, but it wasn't.

"Yes."

"Good luck with that," Peter tapped her shoulders cautiously, "because I'm not sure she's going to appreciate Secret Service agents spying on her home once you've stepped inside her house."

"Secret Service agents – what?? Don't tell me – no. He didn't," Claire stammered. It couldn't be. Yet judging from Peter's sympathetic look, she knew that Nathan had done it anyway. "He had agents shadowing me?"

"I thought you knew," Peter crossed and uncrossed his arms, suddenly too conscious of his role as Claire's harbinger of too many unwanted truths.

"Did he...you....?"

"Just you. I think he's worried about his only daughter prowling about town without a safety net. He implemented it since you returned home."

Claire sank deeper into the sofa, feeling as if she had just stumbled down on the floor face down. They might have seen her at Kirby Plaza at lunchtime with Gabriel, she realized devastatingly. A headache came over her in an instant. "Ugh," she groaned.

Just when she thought she would be having some privacy. "Sucks to be me," she sighed exasperatingly.

"Sorry, Claire. I really thought you knew."

"It's okay," she mumbled. "I've figured this would happen eventually." She drew a deep breath and smiled feebly. "Thanks, Peter."

Maybe Ian was just like Nathan after all. Or maybe Nathan was like Ian. She really couldn't tell anymore.

--

Gabriel sat ponderingly at the edge of his bed, intently studying his cell phone in his left hand, tracing the buttons with his thumb. Scratching his head slightly, he harrumphed at the text message he had received earlier, about Claire and the possibility that she might have to drag two Secret Service agents in front of Virginia's door.

'sry', she had texted.

He exhaled loudly, causing a curious Harold to back away speedily. "The perks of being a Petrelli," Gabriel told Harold dryly, when the cat neared him again. "This is usually the time when I start to panic," he rubbed the cat's ear, "but curiously enough, I have not encountered that crisis."

Shifting his weight, Gabriel used his hands to support himself as he leaned back on the bed, before his fingers touched the tail-end of Claire's necktie.

_His_ necktie.

"And when do you suppose I should wear this, eh Harold?" he took the tie and stretched the lengthy silk fabric in front of his cat, who was watching him keenly with green eyes. Like Claire's. Harold cooed. Gabriel took it as 'never', when in reality Harold had told him to wear it whenever he could, in replacement for the other tie he owned.

"I believe I have to inform mother of Claire's arrival tomorrow afternoon," Gabriel sighed, before proceeding to knock on Virginia's bedroom door.

She literally squealed and leapt in excitement.

--

"The perks of being a Petrelli!" Claire said energetically, her hands in the air as if it was one of her cheerleading routines.

There was no telling, however, of whether she felt as nervous as he was right now, with two Secret Service agents standing rigidly behind her outside of Virginia's apartment door. Her cheeks were flushed red, he observed.

"Indeed," he commented uneasily, before letting her in. "Are they coming in as well?" his gaze shifted between the men in black and the girl in aquamarine blue, realizing for the first time how clammy his hands were as he held the door open.

"Nope!" she marched into the apartment, maintaining her abnormally vivacious attitude. Gabriel gave the agents one last glance, before lightly closing the door and turned to face Claire. "Forgive me if this sounds like an intruding query, but are you inebriated?" he asked, lowering his voice so no one might hear.

Claire laughed sardonically. "No, not inebriated. Pissed is more like it," she gritted her teeth. "I'm sorry I had to bring them with me. Tried to reason with my dad...he wouldn't let me go around the city without them. It's not like I'm the President's daughter or something," she raged continuously, before noticing that Gabriel was fiddling with his thumbs, unsure if he should interrupt her moment of conniption in favour of introducing her to his mother.

"Gosh, I'm sorry I had to put you through this. But enough about me. Today's about you. Where's your mom?" she tugged at his arm, a smile touching her lips, erasing all signs of fretfulness from her face. "I brought pie," she grinned roguishly.

"She is in the kitchen. You, on the other hand, have convinced me that you are trying to raise my blood glucose level," he eyed the pie box warily. "Since today is a special occasion, and I do need to raise my blood glucose level...you are forgiven," he dictated.

Claire laughed. A genuine, untainted, sincere laughter.

It took him half a second to appreciate her renewed optimism, urging him to go ahead and let out a laugh, too.

"Claire Petrelli, right?" Virginia appeared, smiling when she saw the exchange between her son and the venerable guest currently gracing her living room. "I am sorry I didn't come out and greet you earlier. There's been a few...mishaps...in the kitchen..." she trailed off, completely oblivious to Gabriel's faint, low-blood-sugared-swaying as he searched Claire's expression for a hint of uneasiness.

The woman was born to be a politician, he thought, as she smiled back at his mother, the same way he remembered when he first met her. "Yeah, that's right. Just call me Claire," he heard her say.

But then again, she was naturally a pleasant person _to be with_, anyway.

'_To engage in a conversation with, _Gabriel_,' _he bit back from saying out loud.

"I'm Virginia, Gabriel's mother," she took Claire's hand, tears forming in her eyes. "You're so beautiful," she sniffed apologetically. "Forgive me again...it's just that I never knew this day would come."

Gabriel felt like hiding in some dusty corner where he could fix some watches and pretend this little tête-à-tête never happened. Worse, he could feel Claire's amused look burning his suddenly-too-warm face. "We have not entertained a single guest in this apartment for at least 20 years," he proffered. "This may explain my mother's sudden burst of emotion," Gabriel attempted to retain an aura of detachment around him, while being nudged by Claire and Virginia at the same time.

He certainly did not wish to know why they nudged him at the same time.

Claire squeezed Virginia's trembling hands softly, "I am really, really honoured to be here today," while Gabriel looked on, positively intrigued.

Then, she hugged Virginia as she would her real mother.

--

"That's a lot of snow globes," Claire said to him after lunch, in his room, Harold lay sprawled on her lap. "You're not kidding when you told me she collects them," she picked the cat up before pulling her legs up on the bed to sit cross-legged, as Gabriel did on the floor. "Missed ya, little fella," she scratched the top of Harold's head, causing him to yawn inevitably.

"That cat needs to learn some manners," Gabriel blinked, tilting his head, resting it upon his right shoulder. A sigh escaped his lips.

Claire raised her brows. "You look really tired," she observed.

"A similar remark can be applied to you," he shot back. "Are you certain that both of the agents waiting outside this apartment's door do not need to consume lunch? We do have leftovers."

She replied acidly, "Leave them be."

So that was the end of that, Gabriel thought. He was about to let the topic go when Claire spoke again.

"I specifically told him that I don't want agents following me today. And he promised me there wouldn't be!"

Gabriel deduced that 'he' was Nathan Petrelli, but did not dare say the name out loud.

"I took a cab, and the next thing I know, those guys were already following me," she groaned in rapidly building enmity.

He scooted forward, closer to the foot of the bed and looked up at Claire, who was rubbing her forehead furiously. "He is undoubtedly concerned for your safety. And I am a stranger whom he does not know, and hence was not trusted. It is perfectly logical and understandable," his tone gentle as not to incur her wrath any further.

"Maybe," she exhaled, still unsatisfied. "He could have at least told me that he was going to send his people anyway. He lied to me, Gabriel."

Gabriel rose up and took up a seat beside her, yet he remained taciturn. She felt the bed shift as his weight sank into the mattress, her senses beguiled by the warmth emanating from the unexpected propinquity.

"To lie," he began. "To be lied to. Experience has taught me that this is all part and parcel of life," he mused profoundly. A shiver ran down Claire's spine when he uttered the words, making her flinch. It was the first time Gabriel had said anything remotely philosophical. More importantly, it had awakened Claire to her hidden agenda to as why she had come in the first place.

She had been curious to meet the woman who had raised Gabriel to be the man that he was today, but that wasn't her main objective.

Even her own, real intention had escaped her when she laid her eyes on Virginia Gray for the first time, because it reminded her of how it must have felt to have a real mother. Like how she felt when she had Sandra Bennet for a mother, before finding out that she was a Petrelli.

_Motherless._

Nope. Her intention was pure and simple: she wanted to know more about Gabriel.

About his past.

About the boy Virginia Gray raised in this very apartment.

"Hey, Gabriel?" she licked her lips, turning her whole body to face him.

"Yes, Claire."

"Who's Elle?"

Gabriel coughed loudly. The man was flustered, Claire realized. "Aaaa....umphh....how did you know about her?"

"I was helping your mom with the dishes and she suddenly said I looked like...Elle."

"She was an acquaintance of mine. It has been a long while since I last saw her," he replied cautiously. Five minutes he had left Claire alone with his mother. Five minutes and damage had been done.

"Do I really look like her?" Claire posed raucously; fully unaware that she was swaying closer towards him, with every word she uttered.

Gabriel took his time by studying her countenance, while she watched his gaze travel across her face expectantly. "Indeed, some of your features are similar to hers. For instance, both of you have blonde locks. And remarkably petite. But your eyes," he paused.

"My eyes?" she blinked, suddenly too conscious of where they were (his bedroom), and what they were doing. (Actually she had no idea what they were doing. Talking? When did they stop?). She had hugged him, but this was a novel experience for her. She had never seen his face up-close, never noticed the length of his eyelashes, or the uniqueness of his brows, despite him overusing them to mock her when words failed. She had always felt the intensity of his gaze, but had never perused through the very eyes that had made her shudder -- the same, dark eyes that were obscured behind his glasses.

"Hers were blue. I think," he frowned. "Yours," he stared unashamedly, "are green. Far more fascinating. Less boring. Bewitching, as others would say."

Did he not realize what he was doing to her?

Chances are, he couldn't realize anything at all.

She ignored her rapidly elevating heart rate and decided to tempt fate. "Your mom asked me not to hurt you the way Elle did."

His breath hitched.

"What did she do to you?" she breathed, not even recognizing her own voice anymore. Judging from Gabriel's twisted expression, it could have been anything but good. Suddenly, she felt dreadful for even bringing it up. "You don't have to answer that," she gulped thickly.

Gabriel took off his glasses and wiped the lenses with the tail of his shirt. "To put it simply? She lied to me, Claire," he shrugged. "She manipulated me; the naive young man that I was. Nevertheless, it is essential that you should learn one fact from this, Claire," his eyes darkened, beckoning her to lose herself inside the mystifying vortex. Unshielded from two pieces of polycarbonates.

His voice hummed in her ears as he craftily twisted three words into a cacophonous commandment:

"I forgave her."

--

Claire gave in and decided to take a ride with the Secret Service agents back to the Petrelli mansion, where she knew Peter would be shaking his head if he saw her making conversation with Agents Lockhart and McCrimmon over tuna sandwiches and coffee. Not to mention that Virginia was the one who packed lunch for them as well.

_Virginia Gray._

She was far from what Claire imagined Gabriel's mother would be. Nonetheless, the woman loved her son despite his incapacity to return the feeling through obvious, conventional words or gestures. Claire had to tip her hat to her for that. The desperation had been evident in Virginia's eyes, though.

Claire could see what had caused Gabriel to move away from New York.

He needed a breathing space; a room to conjure tricks with his unlimited talents. Being imprisoned in Queens was going to bring him more harm than good, and he wasn't a Manhattan type of guy either.

Beautiful minds, like beautiful people, already have their own designated place to reside and flourish. Gabriel's was MIT.

Like that was going to justify her enrolment into Harvard. Yes, she had dreamed of studying there. No, she didn't want to take up law. Yes, she had considered doing biology instead. No, Nathan wouldn't allow it.

While that problem was solved by her descending deeper into the curriculum without looking back at what-might-have-been had she went on doing what she had intended to do, she was still tied up to her responsibilities as a daughter, a granddaughter, a Petrelli...

A sister, if she had truly been a Bennet, she thought ruefully.

With Noah, she would be freely living a normal life without the pressure of being slandered in public, scandalized, assassinated – whatever problems politicians had to silvertongue or dodge their ways through these days. With Noah, she would just be a normal cheerleader who went to a not-so-posh-but-still-respectable college.

With Nathan, everything was overblown -- from the tiniest details of her winning a Scrabble competition during grade school, to her first appearance at a debutante ball. And still, she was expected to do more, even if she was out of her wits to stretch merely one tenth of an inch further.

She was not given an option to escape; not yet. She was glad that Gabriel did, and did wonderfully at that, too. Perhaps, it was all rooted from his facility to forgive others' wrongdoings, even if they had left him battered and bruised. Hurt.

Perhaps, if she forgave Nathan for all the hardships he had put her through in spite of the wealth that he had provided; for the birthdays he missed, for the audacity to patronize her using his status as her father when he had barely shown his paternal side to her -- if only she could forgive him...leaving it all behind and start anew...

Perhaps she would truly be free.

_I forgive you, dad. _

Hot tears began to stream down her cheeks when a hand gracefully touched her shoulder, gentle and elegant; mysterious yet wise. She turned and saw her grandmother's brown eyes piercing through the dimness of the living room.

Angela Petrelli pulled her only granddaughter into a comforting embrace, having an inkling of what might have caused Claire to shed her tears uncontrollably. "Just cry," she whispered in a sing-song voice, "Just let it all out."

Peter's stride halted when he saw the scene before him.

"Shh," Angela put up a finger to her lips, signalling Peter to leave them alone.

He scurried upstairs, hands fisted; speculating what this new friend of Claire's – _Gabriel --_ could have possibly done to make his favourite niece cry.

_to be continued..._

* * *

A/N #2: Gabriel and Claire have more things in common than they initially think. Both were lonely, in search for true friendship, deceived by people they trust. Fate brought them together, and in each other they found what had been missing in their lives. They have escaped loneliness, now they are beginning to accept change. Gabriel is beginning to open up and become less detached from the world (but is this going to bring about a negative impact on him?), while Claire is beginning to learn to forgive. I think they are also starting to realize how big their roles are going to be in each other's lives (but not knowing the exact magnitude of this fated acquaintance).

Has anyone noticed how they draw out emotions from each other?

I won't be writing the back story of what happened between Gabriel and Elle until the perfect time comes – for now it's suffice to say that she had hurt him in the past, and even if Gabriel had been fond of her before, their relationship would never reach what he and Claire are currently sharing. Is Elle alive and well? I dunno. Maybe she is. It's a Claire and Gabriel story, and Elle was mentioned in this chapter as a stepping stone for Claire to forgive Nathan the way Gabriel had forgiven Elle. (And no, she wasn't murdered). Take that as you will. :p

The next chapter is going to be the longest yet. As much as I've been promising the change of direction and pace in this fic, the next chapter is going to be another step forward in Gabriel and Claire's relationship, before plunging into something...unexpected.

That much I am allowed to say.

This fic is currently my pride and joy, it being my first Heroes multi-chaptered fic and the only one I could see where I want it to go. Writing nearly 4000 words per chapter would have never been possible without you guys cheering me on. I hope I'll be able to finish this before school starts in September -- it's safe to say that this fic is halfway done.

Until then, I look forward to hearing from you. I'm sorry for being so mellow -- RL hasn't been the best of times.

Thank you for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: The longest chapter yet. Fluff warning. The beginning of...something. Blink and you'll miss it.

I'd also like to thank you guys for all your support. I may have come off a little too depressed in the last chapter, so I hope this chapter will make it up to you, somehow. I can't vouch for eternal happiness, though. ;p

On to Chapter 8, then!

* * *

Chapter 8

"Remind me again why we're doing this?"

"You should be glad that _I'm _doing this, if you really hate Ian's guts that much," Claire retorted.

"Yeah, but why do you have to drag me along?"

Claire rolled her eyes. "Weren't you the one who had wanted to help me out in the first place, big guy?"

Peter snorted, "Yeah, yeah," as they continued to climb the stairs to 6A. "I gotta pick up the keys from Gabriel first," Claire told him.

"Which apartment does he live in?"

"7. Right above Ian's."

Peter's only reply was an "Ah," before they finally reached 6A and Claire pointed to another flight of stairs to reach Gabriel's loft.

"Does he know that we're coming?"

Claire swerved and gave him a 'duh' look. Peter raised both of his hands, signalling surrender. "Of course he knows we're coming," he shook his head musingly.

Peter stood in front of apartment 7 while Claire knocked on Gabriel's door, biting her bottom lip and looked back at him expectantly. It took six seconds for Gabriel to answer the door, another two to look back and forth between Claire and Peter, and one last second before he finally said, "Hello," complete with an endearing little hand-wave, moving only the proximal joints of his fingers. Harold's faint meows could be heard in the background.

"Claire," Gabriel acknowledged her, before extending his arm towards Peter for a handshake. "Am I correct in inferring that you are Claire's uncle, Peter Petrelli?"

The man in question shook Gabriel's hand unflinchingly, nodding as he replied, "Yeah. I'm Peter. You're Gabriel, right?"

Claire watched this exchange attentively, predominantly analysing Gabriel's input to the conversation. She had been unreservedly surprised when Gabriel turned out to be the first between the two men to offer a handshake. Gabriel never shook hands with anyone, unless he really had to.

"Indeed I am. Gabriel Gray," he introduced himself, finally letting go of the Peter's hand, trying to appear unaffected. Claire suppressed a knowing grin when Gabriel inserted his hand into his pocket – he already had his alcohol wipes prepared, alright. "She has enlightened me about you on multiple occasions. There is tremendous certainty that she has placed you highly in her regard; thus, earning you my instant and utmost respect," Gabriel tipped his head curtly.

Peter gawked. It was the only feasible response he could give at that point in time, because he didn't know whether he should feel flattered or freaked out.

"These are your keys. Do you need my assistance with your belongings?" he directed his question at Claire, who by this time was busy scrutinizing Peter's reactions to _Gabrielspeak_.

"Um, no, it's okay. We're fine. I'll give you a call if I need help," she assured him, before pulling Peter's arm to get back downstairs. She wasn't surprised at Peter's inability to budge from his spot, still studying Gabriel intently –

"That's Gabriel?" he asked her once they were safe inside Ian's apartment; Peter's expression was filled with every sagacity of wonderment.

She became concerned when Peter continued to blink unabashedly, his jaw slacking when she confirmed for the umpteenth time that Gabriel Gray was indeed the current occupant of apartment 7, or better known to Peter as the friend who _"had made Claire cry."_

Twice, she thought, but Peter really didn't have to know that. Almost thrice, if she counted that childish incident in Kirby Plaza.

It took her half an hour to explain what had happened and why she had cried.

"Wow," his lips contrived into a stunned smile, "I feel like I've seen him from somewhere before. And that guy is really something else."

"Not Ian material?" she proffered mockingly, crossing her arms as she stood between him and the door to her room.

"Ian is definitely way out of that guy's league, and I'm not being sarcastic. Oh, Ian is royally screwed," Peter said resolutely.

"That guy's name is Gabriel, Peter," she sombrely chided.

Peter nodded and grinned, fascinated by the whole idea of Ian feeling threatened by Gabriel. Despite only meeting Gabriel for less than five minutes, he could totally see why.

He liked the guy already.

--

Gabriel knocked and waited patiently outside Claire's door. He knew perfectly who was coming from the other side, simply by identifying the soft taps of her footsteps. His brows immediately rose when he saw her holding the door demurely, Peter not in sight. "Where is your uncle?"

"He, um, went to get some coffee. And could you please call him Peter? 'Uncle' has some age-related stigma around it. Makes him sound older than he should," she smirked meaningfully. "Come in," she gestured. "How are you, by the way?"

"I am...fine," he replied, tentativeness inflected in his tone as he walked into 6A for the first time. The last time he was here, Ian had to drag him through the door after his fainting episode. A memory he wished to repress at the deepest, darkest corner of his hippocampus.

"How is your mother?" she asked, pulling his hand gently as they made way to the couch. He obeyed her blindly, since he had become habituated to her touches. Oddly, his heart would miss a beat when she employed physical contact against him, his breathing became remarkably laboured.

"She is in a perfect health condition. How about the rest of your family?" he inquired courteously.

"They're in good health, too," she nodded, a smile touching her lips as she felt his previously cold hands gradually became warmer in hers.

"Your...father?"

"Never better."

Silence enveloped them for an ephemeral moment, which could have been paradoxically termed 'an eternity' if Gabriel had not shifted his weight on the sofa. Claire took the chance to slide under his numbed arm to rest her head against his chest, wrapping her own arms around his flanks. She snickered when they simultaneously took similar, deep breaths – oh, how she missed hugging him.

Cuddling. Hugging. Anything in between.

Gabriel, on the other hand, well...

Maybe he was just uncomfortable because he was awfully stiff beneath her; his arm hung above her shoulder like dead weight.

He could do this, he thought. Just sitting and not utilizing his mental faculties fully. When was the last time he had indulged himself with indolence? Even his Saturday trips to the garden was just a ploy to find a quieter place to think, instead of the ruffled bustling of his lab or the four dumb walls of his own home.

Claire had called him yesterday, not only to notify him of her return to Massachusetts, but also the fact that Peter was coming with her. Gabriel had been at the garden, stimulating his mental processes with anything but the thought of a certain future-ex-neighbour. This arrangement had disintegrated as soon as her voice echoed through his phone. When she had finally hung up, he had knocked the back of his head onto a bark of a tree for several times, because she should not have been able to permeate through every cell of his being -- particularly if she was 185 miles away. Moreover, the last time he heard, Claire was not an airborne plague.

It could only take a genius like Gabriel to fully dissect the answer to Claire's query regarding his feelings, after several disquieting weeks of cataclysmic confusion. He quickly construed, then, that his limbic system had finally been restored to its full, original function.

This was why he decided to verbalize his thoughts, allowing himself to relax; letting his arm which was hobbled around Claire to tighten its hold, drawing her closer towards him.

She looked up at him confoundedly.

"I am going to miss you, Claire." It couldn't be simpler than that.

And also startling.

She pulled away in irrepressible shock. "Gabriel?"

He became visibly alarmed. "I do not quite know how to express this. It is a very peculiar feeling which I could not possibly explicate through words," he rubbed the bridge of his nose, inadvertently pushing his glasses upwards.

"You don't have to explicate anything," she sat upright, knees modestly folded beneath her. "Not to me," her voice lowered to barely a whisper, before she leaned forward and slid her arms around his neck, chin tucked upon the junction between his neck and shoulder. It was perfect.

It felt right.

And if he was uncomfortable, he did not show it.

"No, I have to. It is crucial that I tell you this," he murmured naively against her ear, the scent of her sun-kissed skin dominated his senses. He could feel her smooth cheek move against his as she lifted her head up, to listen to what he had to say. "When you brought up the topic at Kirby Plaza," he began, "I had not given much thought about it. Then I returned home, I passed your door on my way up, knowing well that no one was in and it did not bother me because it was summer break. You and Ian were not home. Then, I postulated that it will be different once Ian arrives because you shall not return with him. That very pathetic idea of me, sitting in my apartment, tending to Harold while knowing that you are not living one floor beneath mine becomes rather disturbing."

She let out a sigh that tickled the soft hairs at his nape, letting his confession wash over her in a downpour of surprise. "Why are you telling me this now?"

"I do not know. I was hoping that you could provide me with the answers," he gulped.

"I don't have the answers, Gabriel," she shook her head, causing him to reach up and steadied her neck with the subtlest of touches. Thinking that he might have crossed some line, he pushed her away gently, only as far as to look at her eye-to-eye, before guiltily turning his head away.

Her fingers grazed his jaw, causing him to jolt instinctively. "Do you want me to stay, then?"

"No, no. I, uh, must admit that I understand why you chose to move out and I certainly want you to follow that decision. Forgive me if I am behaving too bluntly, I rarely ever do this. Ever," he straightened his back, nodding briskly as if to convince himself of his own garble. He tried to get off the sofa; embarrassed, but was restrained by one word and one movement.

"_Wait,_" her fingers caressed the tip of his ear, making him shudder from the sensitive touch. He hissed, shut his eyes and sank back in defeat. "I'm not going far. The new apartment is just one block from here," she told him. He looked at her hopefully.

"Now that we're finally talking about feelings, how do you feel now?" she implored softly.

"Strangely calmed," he admitted. "I am constantly bridled at myself for not realizing how remarkably soothing this act makes me feel. This simple deed of embracing a friend, someone I care about."

Claire licked her lips nervously. This was way too much to take in one day. Imagine the things Gabriel was going through now, for him to have the guts to step up and say all these things.

"I have been doing a lot of thinking. About how I have lived my life so far," he pressed on; his eyelids nervously flickered as he scanned across the room. Anywhere but her.

"If this was about what I said at Kirby Plaza..."

"It _is_ about what you have said at Kirby Plaza. About changes. You have made a resolution to change your life by moving out of this apartment. I believe it is time for me to do the same. To just let go and be more...human," Gabriel explained cohesively, still unable to lay his eyes on her. He rubbed his flushed cheeks and tugged at his hair, causing the ends to stick out stubbornly.

Claire moved his hand away and held it to her heart, realizing that he was more than embarrassed – he had been terribly ashamed about this; ashamed to admit that he wanted her to stick around and never leave, that he was inherently different from other people. "You are more human than anyone I've ever known, Gabriel," she murmured earnestly, not just because it was something she had to say – it was the truth.

He stared at her unblinkingly, the same way he had stared at her on the day they met. Her heart was racing under his palm. Normally, he would not do this. Normally, he would not notice little things like the green of her eyes or her fair, flawless skin. The shimmering gold of her hair that reminded him of warm sunlight; summoning him to purge all reason and run his fingers through the silken strands, just to know how it felt like.

"Claire, do you wish to go to the garden?" he asked suddenly. The mere thoughts of warmth and sunlight, with Claire basking in both made him inexplicably breathless.

"Now?" she jerked backwards; startled at Gabriel's forwardness. "What about Peter?"

"I suggest you could inform him via a text message that we are going somewhere. I believe he has the keys to your apartment, yes?" Claire nodded. "He will be fine. I hope," Gabriel's tone was crisp and clear.

"Alright, I could do that..." Claire blinked; her mouth slightly agape. Then, ignoring the familiar-yet-oddly-timed sting in her eyes, she smiled the sweetest smile she could ever give in her life.

--

He nudged Claire's shoulder softly. "I am going to be held back here. You are going to go places. Be a big shot lawyer as your father once was. Perhaps even join politics."

She snorted at the word 'politics', yet Gabriel remained unfazed. "While you are stuck here, you could win a Nobel Prize," she nudged him back. Her offhand remark caused him to break into an undecipherable grin. He sighed. "That is indeed what I wish to do. What I _need_ to do is work harder."

Claire rolled over to lie on her stomach, supporting herself with her elbows while she stared at him wide-eyed. "Don't tell me you haven't worked hard enough. All the extra hours you spent in the lab...?"

"Not enough," he replied insubordinately, with a glint of roguishness in his eyes. Timidly, his fingers reached for the loose strands of golden hair framing her face, tucking them behind her ear effortlessly, as if it was a routine he was already accustomed to. "Never will be," he looked away forlornly.

She gasped at the contact.

"What are we doing here?" he asked her, suddenly serious.

"Lying on the grass while talking to each other?"

"Thank you for pointing out the obvious, Claire. You are becoming more logical with each hour you spend with me," he flatly declared. What were becoming progressively obvious to her however, were only their precipitous proximity and his earthy scent.

Leafy. Freshness of morning and dew and soap and grass combined. It was the most irrelevant topic to contemplate at this point in time, but Claire digressed.

"You were the one who invited us here out of the blue. You tell me what we're doing here," the corners of her lips slanted upwards mischievously.

She was invading his personal space, but Gabriel could not care less. If this was how it felt to have a friend, then by all means, she could invade his personal space to the last squared inch. "I never knew that letting go could feel this good," he confessed. His statement caused Claire to giggle. "You're calling this 'letting go'?"

"I am still at an experimental stage. Forgive me if my previous hypothesis was invalid," Gabriel explained. "Theoretically I should feel highly uncomfortable right now, but with the optimum catalyst," he paused, "with the right catalyst...I find myself unexpectedly enjoying this. Thoroughly."

"I'm your catalyst?" she smirked. He nodded shyly. "I'll take that as a compliment." Her words came out confident, but who was she kidding? She was sweating despite the austere atmosphere surrounding them. His radiance calmed her. In this bubble of comfort, she was beginning to doubt if this conversation was appropriate.

He was trying to be more cavalier around her. He was no longer the super uptight nerd she first met that mid-spring Monday morning. Five months later, here they were, lying next to each other by the lake of their own Secret Garden, acting like irresponsible teenagers (although the irresponsible teenager part should only be applied to her). The point remained -- Gabriel had bared his soul for her, and she was eminently amazed at the way he kept aplomb – despite his current clumsy attempt to place an arm around her, in an effort to pull her close to him. She tried to hide her little smile as she snuggled closer and wrapped her arm around his waist, her head rested against his firm chest.

"I never knew I could do this. With anyone," he whispered on the top of her head. "It puzzled me to no end how I could not imagine doing this with anyone but you," he added perilously. Claire looked up at him sharply, almost taken aback by his words. She opened her mouth in an attempt to reply, but to no avail.

"If this was an experiment to determine whether I am able to participate in human social interaction on a whole new level, I would only want to repeat it with you."

If that was Gabriel's way of implying that he wanted to only do this with her, she was more than flattered. Her conscience told her to think otherwise.

That this was wrong.

That he was confusing friendly interaction with something overtly transcendent.

"I never thought this place could so beautiful in summertime," she commented, trying immensely to avoid her own wild thoughts. "There's so much that I've missed."

"Hmm..." he hummed, before taking a deep breath. "I can understand that."

"Do you find any particular human...beautiful? Attractive, to say the least?" she inquired treacherously. Claire really couldn't stop herself; Gabriel had never been this open. She had to take her chances.

He furrowed his brows and mumbled, "Beauty is subjective...but to satisfy your need for an answer, it is sufficient for me to admit that yes, I do find some humans more attractive than others."

"For example?"

There was no response.

"Gabriel?"

"You are attractive," he swallowed. "Or Ian would not have chosen you as his...." he trailed off, unsure if he should finish the sentence.

"Mate?" Claire offered.

"_Potential _mate," he nodded bashfully.

It was more than any answer Claire would have expected. So maybe she did wish a tad for him to mention her own name, but what was the probability of that happening?

Still, he had paired her up with Ian. Warning signs began to beep off erratically in her head.

"Ian chose me. Of course," she frowned.

She would have left it at that and forgot about this banter in a few hours time, but then he progressed to do something entirely un-Gabriel like, if today was not un-Gabriel-like enough.

He kissed her forehead.

And then her right cheek. Slowly.

Lazily.

She could feel his hot breath tickling her skin. _'Shit,'_ she thought.

"Gabriel? You just kissed me. Twice," she said nervously, in a voice unlike her own.

He gritted his teeth. "I am aware of the matter, Claire."

"Why?"

"You seemed to be in a despondent mood. I do not know of any funny tales to tell. Even if I do, I will not know how to convey it correctly, thus, rendering my theoretical effort to cheer you up, moot. Therefore, I employed the next best approach," he explained blankly. "Forgive me if I have caused you any discomfort. I have never implemented this method before," he blushed.

"_The next best approach?_ Gabriel, you've made me the happiest girl alive today. I couldn't possibly ask for more!" Claire told him grinningly, her fingers brushing away the hair that had fallen down his forehead.

To an outsider, those little gestures were entirely platonic. It probably would have meant nothing, especially if someone were to explicate their unlikely friendship.

_Explicate._ The word of the day.

He replied by tracing her jaw with deft fingers, tilting her head so that he could gaze down at her tenderly. Chocolate brown eyes met cerulean green ones. And he smiled his natural, happy smile, one that was not forced or sinister, expecting her to do the same.

She did.

For the second time that day, she did.

--

Peter curiously stared at Claire and Gabriel when they returned to Ian's apartment an hour later. "Where did you guys go?" his head tilted slightly, watching Claire who was watching Gabriel, who in turn, was watching him.

This was a new development.

"We went to this garden-place-thingy, it's where I usually take photos. It's been a while since I went there. Gabriel here thought it would be a genius idea to, um, hang out there before I go back to New York," Claire explained enthusiastically. Gabriel pursed his lips, nodding beside her. "Yes. It was my idea," he admitted thoughtfully.

Peter couldn't help but nod, too, before shaking his head distractedly. "Um, right. Okay, so, the packing's done, should we go and get a cab to your new apartment?"

"Yeah, we should," Claire clapped her hands together, before turning to her side and faced Gabriel. "You wanna come?"

"Even if I were to decline this invitation, I know you will simply ignore it," Gabriel solemnly replied.

Claire looked straight at Peter, who was trying hard to contain his amusement. "That's a yes," she told Peter, before going into her room to grab her stuff. Peter only managed to nod.

Again.

Five minutes with this Gabriel fellow and Peter too, was infected. Not with _Gabrielspeak_ as Claire was so inclined, but the nodding syndrome, apparently.

Gabriel frowned in puzzlement before realizing that he was alone with Peter in the living room. And Peter was studying him intently as if he was a laboratory specimen. Not that he could be blamed, though. Gabriel was used to it.

"So, Gabriel. I heard you work at MIT?"

"Yes. In the Computer Science and Artificial Intelligence Laboratory, to be specific."

"What exactly do you do, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Genetic programming," Gabriel responded curtly. Usually this was the part where people would go, "Ah," before pretending that they understood and left it at that. Unusually, his conversation with Claire regarding the matter had not gone down that route. She had initially thought that it had something to do with the Human Genome Project, before he reminded her that 'genetic programming' was an artificial intelligence term.

At least she was curious enough to ask him what it _really_ meant and understood the biological part of it. She had given up when he started to ramble while drawing mathematical functions in his loft.

Again, she could not be blamed.

"Isn't that like using genetic algorithms based on biological evolution to do stuff with computer programs?" Peter asked, his eyes gleaming with interest.

Gabriel's eyes widened in surprise. "Why, yes. I'll spare you the complex details but yes, that is indeed, the gist of it."

Peter shrugged diffidently. "Read about it the other day in some science magazine in the hospital," he mumbled, "although I can't understand the rest of it."

"You work as a paramedic, yes?" Gabriel's glasses glinted as he leaned forward inquisitively.

Crossing his arms, Peter cleared his throat and replied, "Uh, yeah."

The bespectacled man appeared to cogitate over the confirmation with much thought, before concluding it promptly in his head:

_The Petrellis are fascinating. _

_--_

Claire re-entered the living room to find Gabriel and Peter deep in discussion about a paramedic's life. She aptly titled it 'A Day in the Life of Peter Petrelli' in her mind for amusement's sake, before hearing something like _'it is undoubtedly a well-respected vocation, not to mention heroic,'_ coming out from Gabriel's mouth. The rest became white noise -- because she had never seen Peter talk so frankly about his profession without being condescended upon. Because it used to make him look like a failure amongst other prominent Petrelli successes.

Apart from herself, her grandmother, Noah Bennet, Peter's fellow paramedics and the random people he had saved (or looked after when he was still a nurse), Peter never discussed it with anyone.

He certainly had never spoken to her friends about it. Much less Ian.

She did not manage to catch the end of the conversation, obviously, because the two men were now looking at her as if she might as well be the laughing stock of all of Massachusetts. Obviously, they have finished talking. "What are you guys staring at? Let's go!" she huffed, partly because they were running late, and partly because she was embarrassed.

Peter and Gabriel glanced at each other conspiratorially.

It gave her goosebumps.

--

"What, so you guys are friends now?" she asked Peter on the flight back to New York.

"Why, are you jealous?" he asked her back, a hint of delight in his voice from teasing her.

"No," she rolled her eyes and fixed her gaze on the dark clouds outside, taking a sip of complimentary orange juice from a standard plastic cup.

Peter chuckled. "Ya know, this might sound insane, but I give you my blessing."

Claire immediately spurted out juice from her mouth and gave Peter a bewildered stare. "Wha--??" her mouth hung incredulously, while Peter tried to wipe some juice off his face and shirt, his shoulders shaking frenziedly from laughing.

"I give you my blessing. Of whatever _ship_ you're on with Gabriel," he stated expressively, causing Claire's jaw to drop lower.

"What ship??"

"Forget I said anything. It's just weird seeing you guys together, because I kinda had a dream about this thing happening, you know? You and him. Except that I've never met him before, so that's strange." Peter shrugged and put his headset on, leaving Claire speechless beside him.

--

_September_

He woke up to the blinking alarm of his phone, his mouth felt dry and cottony. It could have been another normal Monday morning, except that it was only 2 a.m. and the ringtone was not the one assigned for his alarm clock.

It was in fact, a phone call.

From a private number.

He did not know what came over him that morning, but he picked it up. He barely said a word before a gruff, authoritative voice addressed him from the other end. "Mr. Gabriel Gray?"

"Yes?"

"Is Virginia Gray your mother?"

Gabriel's heavy eyes snapped open immediately.

Ready. Alert.

"Yes. To whom am I speaking to?"

_to be continued..._

* * *

A/N#2: Honestly, I don't even know what to make of this chapter. All I know is that it's the turnaround...in almost everything. Something big is coming up, and maybe you guys could guess what it(they) is(are)?

I was drained from writing this chapter down...and I got really sick just from re-reading it all over again...so I decided -- let's just post it and see what your reactions will be. I, uh, really feel that I might get flames thrown at me from this point onwards. ^ ^;;

Until then, see you in the next chapter, Y/N?


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: I am exceptionally thrilled with the reception you gave for the last chapter, I am still grinning from happiness right now. :))

100+ REVIEWS!!! Thank you, thank you, thank you. Have I told you lately how much I love you guys?

So everyone's been asking about what's gonna happen to Virginia. The answer is right here, in this chapter...although the consequence of what happened will be fleshed out more than anything else. To be honest, I think this chapter has a different feel to what you've usually read in previous chapters. Let me know what you think of it, okay?

So here's chapter 9!

* * *

Chapter 9

"Claire, did you know?" Peter asked her gravely through the phone.

"Peter?" she shot back, startled. "Know what? Is there anything wrong?"

"You didn't know? It's about Gabriel."

_Uh-oh._

"What about Gabriel?"

"He's here in New York," Peter said grimly.

"What? Why?"

"It's his mom, Claire. His mom was involved in a hit-and-run accident. Now she's in a coma."

--

Cold sweat broke on Claire's forehead, her fingers trembling as she dialled Gabriel's number. It felt like only yesterday that she had paid Virginia Gray a visit, talked to her; embraced her as if she was part of Claire's own family. Her mouth felt dry, her whole body felt cold and numb, the phone was slipping off her hands even if she tried holding on to it tightly. It was as if her life depended solely on it, but slowly fading away.

"Come on, Gabriel," she rubbed her forehead, her knees couldn't stop shaking. "Come on, pick it up," her voice cracked under the pressure.

He did not.

Claire tried to calm herself before she did anything ridiculous. Gabriel must have taken the first flight out to New York. Peter told her that he had talked to a completely distraught Gabriel at the hospital. The incident had happened at least 6 hours ago, and she wasn't informed of it until Peter called her after the end of his shift.

And what a time, too.

At least 24 hours ago, Gabriel had been at her new apartment. He had helped her set up some newly bought furniture, before wheedling her to watch the original Star Wars trilogy with him, tub of ice-cream in hand. The last time she saw him was when he bid goodbye at her front door, before strolling back to his own apartment building, situated only one block away.

She was only two weeks into her new term at Harvard. Two lousy, awkward weeks with Ian in class.

Which was thankfully overtopped by three fabulous weeks with Gabriel, doing what BFFs do.

(He had raised one brow and rolled his eyes at the usage of the term).

Despite all that, he did not even tell her anything before dashing off to New York in the middle of the night. Not a call, not a text message, no nothing.

She threw her phone onto her bed.

The sound of it vibrating ghoulishly against her mattress made her jump out of fright.

Scrambling nervously to pick it up, she finally heaved a deep sigh to see Gabriel's name on the caller ID. "Gabriel?"

"Hello, Claire."

"God, I'm so glad you're okay," she exhaled graciously. He did not give her a chance to speak another word. His thoughts were still as clear as day, his words uttered in pure precision and immaculate composure.

"Forgive me for not informing you of my departure to New York earlier. I believe Peter must have notified you of what had happened. Well. He had saved my mother's life although--" he broke down. "Although," he started again, "she has subdural hematoma."

"Oh, Gabriel," Claire tried to stop her tears from falling, but failed miserably. "Is she gonna be okay?"

"She was awake when I saw her a few hours ago. She had fallen into a deep coma since. No one would confirm anything. Waiting is...painful."

The staunch silence between them beckoned her to say something in return – 'I'm coming to New York,' she had wanted to say, but he beat her to it.

"I'm going to Baltimore," Gabriel said sharply. No further explanation was given, causing her to squint in confusion.

"Baltimore? What are you going to do in Baltimore?"

"Some...family issues I have to settle. I will return to New York once it has been resolved."

"Wha--?"

"Thank you for showing concern for me. And your uncle Peter, too. He was very helpful. I assure you I am fine. Please do not worry. Goodbye."

The line went dead.

'_Goodbye?'_

_--_

"Claire, have you heard?" Peter asked her gravely through the phone two weeks later.

"Peter?" she shot back. "Heard what?"

"Gabriel didn't tell you," came the disappointed reply.

_Uh-oh._

This felt too much like déjà vu. But it wasn't.

"It's Virginia, isn't it? She's...gone," she muttered vacantly. Suddenly, she felt weak. Dizzy.

She needed air to breathe. She felt warm. She felt cold.

She felt...

"I'm sorry," Peter said grimly. "He didn't tell you?"

"No," Claire replied feebly. "He didn't."

"He must be too distraught to speak to anyone," Peter commented understandingly. "She was the only family he had left."

"When did she die?" she asked snappily, her fingers fidgeting with the pen she was holding. There was no way she could finish writing up her notes after this conversation.

"This morning. He was at her side. The most impassive look I've ever seen by anyone's deathbed. God knows what he's feeling inside."

She could not possibly listen to all this. She could not. Just...no.

"Peter," her grip on the phone tightened, "Is he still in New York?"

The pause in Peter's reply indicated that he knew exactly what was in her mind. "You're coming here, aren't you?" he finally spoke, his voice even and unsurprised.

"Don't tell Nathan. Please?" she pleaded.

"I won't. I promise," he pledged.

"Gabriel needs me," Claire whispered.

"He needs you," Peter agreed knowingly, as if this had been one of his prophetic dreams.

She felt..._needed. _

* * *

Claire had never seen a funeral so empty.

Claire had never seen Gabriel look so...empty.

Still, it was an assumption she made merely by watching him from afar. She had decided not to make her presence known until the funeral was over, to give him a moment of privacy –

A decision which led her to this moment, wherein she was standing in front of Virginia Gray's apartment door, unsure if she should knock or just leave. No Secret Service agents in sight. Just Claire Petrelli and a door left ajar, as if summoning her to enter without Gabriel's permission.

Her palms were sweating. Her brain was telling her to walk away and not bother a man in mourning, but her feet wouldn't budge. And she hated it when that happens.

She was his friend. His _only_ friend. This was something she had to do.

Claire closed her eyes and pushed the door open wider, knocking a few times just to make sure. "Gabriel? Are you there?" she croaked before opening her eyes, only to see a lonely, barefooted figure huddled by Virginia's bedroom door. Curled up into a tight ball, shivering in the darkness.

She pulled the curtains to let some sunlight in, illuminating the many crystal balls – the snow globes that were beginning to catch dust; surrounding the two of them. The figure did not move except for slight tremors that caught him when he breathed. He hid his face away from the light.

It wasn't obvious until she realized that his shoulders were shaking uncontrollably.

He was sobbing.

"Gabriel?" she neared him with a calloused whisper, taking one cautious step at a time.

"Why are you here?" he asked brusquely, still not looking at her. His tone was icy cold, as if she was a trespassing stranger at the garden all over again.

"I'm here for you," she gulped thickly as she knelt beside him. "I heard about your mother's death and—"

She was silenced by a sharp swerve of his head, his dark eyes condemning her soul to the deepest pit of hell. No, she realized. This was worse. He was treating her as if she was his adversary – in a game where only he knew the rules. "I'm sorry, I'll leave you alone," she started to stand up, before he roughly grabbed her arm and pushed her shoulder down, preventing her from rising. Panicking, she did what instinct taught her to do – she kicked him in the groin, causing him to fall back and wince in pain. She took the opportunity to run towards the front door, but he was faster to catch her left ankle and caused her to stumble onto the floor. She was sure that the ankle was horrifically twisted, because the pain felt unbearable.

"She's not my mother," he hissed loathingly as he knelt on all fours, facing her. It was the first time that she saw his face, illumined and shadowed by light and darkness at the same time. His glasses were gone – broken, she saw, laid untended by her feet; his eyes crimsoned with the feral need to ravish a willing prey.

She froze. This was not the Gabriel Gray she knew; not the awkward but gentle soul that she had become friends with. The Gabriel Gray that she knew would not disown his mother merely hours after her death.

"She's not my mother," he told her again with a softer tone yet no less intimidating. "Never was," he growled and narrowed his eyes, as she tried to fathom the situation.

"What do you mean she's not your mother?" she asked, bracing herself for his next assault.

Gabriel stood up and looked at her leeringly, towering over her like the statue of Colossus as he spat his reply. "Just returned from Newark. Met my father. That was a disappointment."

"Your father died a long time ago!" Claire stared at him widely, wondering what madness could have descended upon her dear, kind, adorable Gabriel.

He scoffed. "Said the woman who had deceived me throughout my entire life." Gabriel took several breaths and let his eyes roam across the room before gazing down at Claire, who had not moved from where she fell.

"I thought you went to Baltimore," she said precipitously.

"Which was where I met the man I have called 'father' for 7 years before his 'supposed death'," he snarled furiously, making air quotes on the words 'father' and 'supposed death'. "Turned out he was still alive, that wretched creature," he bent down, causing Claire to jerk backwards in fear. Leveraging herself using her arms, she managed to get back up on her feet again, all pain determinedly gone. But she did not run away.

It was as if she had heard this story before. Even if she hadn't, the story was similar, notwithstanding.

Gabriel surreptitiously watched her stand up, but he had not finished stating his agenda. "He left us to fend for ourselves while he ran off like a coward. And here I thought that he loved me. That I've...pleased him when I fixed my first watch," he clenched his jaw as he tried to suppress his building anger. "I was just six years old then. Six years old and already fixing watches. For what? Because I was gifted with this brain of mine to fix things and so I want to show off?"

Claire did not want to hear this. Really, she didn't want to. She wouldn't be able to handle it, because she knew what was coming next. Because...

Because...

It wasn't just that he was able to fix things. Gabriel wanted to be loved. It was all he had wanted from his father.

He was cheated of it.

"He still has this watch shop in Baltimore. Still sending money to mother. Who is not my mother by the way," his eyebrow arched, before snorting derisively. "She told me. She was so close to dying and that was the moment she chose to tell me that 'dad' is still alive and well and thriving." He shook his head and rubbed his eyes, which were beginning to well up with tears. "I didn't believe her until I came back here and found his letters," he took a measured breath, "and then you called." He ran one hand along the shelf of snow globes, before picking up one in particular and clutched it firmly.

The France snow globe.

Claire took a step forward and stared at him, trying hard to stop herself from crying too. She had to be strong for him.

"And then you called," he repeated, scratching his forehead and grimaced. "There was one moment when I was talking to you that I didn't want to go to Baltimore. I just wanted to stay here and pretend that my life was perfect as it is. But I could not lie to myself. I would not authorize it. So I went to Baltimore anyway. And guess what?"

She took another confident step towards him. She shook her head in fear of not getting the right words out.

"He's not my father," he smiled mordantly. "His brother in Newark is. He's living in a trailer. Dying of cancer," he chuckled sardonically. "Oh, the irony," he licked his bloodied bottom lip. "And the best part? I was not given up for adoption. I was sold. Like a slave. Like a merchandise. Like a..._thing_..." he faltered miserably, before knocking his wrist against his forehead in frustration; the dull sound of bone hitting bone filling the ghastly silence. "Like some worthless...thing," he murmured devastatingly.

It was a sight Claire could not bear witnessing. With two strides she finally stood in front of him, grabbing his wrist firmly and screamed to his face, "Stop it! Please, stop it," before sliding down to the floor, pulling him with her. "Stop it," she cried in agony, "you're breaking my heart. Please, Gabriel...stop it."

Gabriel blinked back his own tears before sitting down limply next to her, looking more crushed than ever. Her moving pleas snapped him back to his logical self, one who was not ruled by dangerous, raw emotions. "Forgive me Claire. I'm afraid that your observation," he gulped, "regarding me being more human than anyone you have ever encountered has been proven untrue," he sighed remorsefully. He leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes for a fleeting moment before gazing down on her face. He licked his lip again, but the taste of blood was gone.

She was looking at him with the brightest green eyes he had ever seen, so clear that he could make out each unique line of her iris despite not wearing his glasses. "You're supposed to say something now," he said, before adding a worried, "Or do you still fear me?" His eyelids lowered warily when she remained taciturn. "Forgive me for hurting you. I've never been hurt this deep, and look at me now. I end up hurting othe-,"

A finger touched his lips, halting his unremitting sputter of apology. "Shh," she hushed, her cheeks still wet with warm, salty tears. He took this as a signal to touch her face and wipe the tears away with his thumb.

"They lied to you," she finally spoke after the longest time, "just like my family lied to me."

The second part of her sentence was dictated with utter affirmation that he could not help but choke in..._choke in_ what? His lungs were tightening, the pain was unbearably excruciating. He had appeared before her with the stride of an eloquent gentleman with intelligent banter and quick wit. Incongruously, the million words he had wanted (or had always been prepared) to say now conveniently disappeared into thin air.

Disintegrated. Collapsed. Obliterated.

Gabriel's hand fell back onto his lap.

He never had any experience of these strange feelings before. This...this was too extreme.

"I thought I was a Bennet. I didn't know I was a Petrelli until I was...5, 6 years old. I hated being a Petrelli despite all the wealth and the power the name gave me. Because I wanted to be a Bennet. Always have been a Bennet, by heart. I still see them, even now. I talk to them more often than I talk with Nathan, but I'll never be part of that ordinary, normal world because of the status segregation. Normal people who listen to this will think that I'm crazy and ungrateful, I know. But who could ever be happy with a make-believe family?" she asked innocently.

He took a sharp intake of breath and became asphyxiated. Tears began to well in his eyes, no matter how hard he tried to deny that he was crying again. He blinked once, twice. His ears perched up as he gazed at the girl beside him. They were merely a few inches from each other, yet the gap was never closed. Now he yearned to place a comforting hand at her shoulder and caress her cheek, or just a pat on her head.

Yet he could not bring himself to do it, because...

"I'm the one who's living in a lie," she spoke again, now whispering hoarsely – probably a sign of her own inner conflicting thoughts. "Your life might have been a lie, but now you're free of it." It was evident that she was having a dreadful time explaining this sudden burst of reality check.

"I am free to do as I wish," he added blindly, almost expressionless. He was exquisitely thorough at hiding his emotions all these while. His wounds would be palpably deeper than hers, now that she knew he had them. Such invisible wounds will scar him for life; unbeknownst to people who failed to see him for whom he really was.

Unable to suppress his feelings any longer, he resigned himself to wrap her in his arms, resting his head in the crook of her neck. He could feel her heart beating fast, as was his. Her body went limp in shock. No one said a word until he reached down and held her cold, cold hands in his. She shuddered when she felt his breath on her flushed cheek, resisting when he placed her arms around his neck.

"I forgave them, Gabriel. I forgave Nathan, just like you forgave Elle. And I've never been happier," she confessed wholeheartedly.

"Shh..." he whispered. "Just let me hold you like this for a while," he muttered. While they had embraced each other in such a fashion many times before, none had been this intimate, physically or emotionally. It didn't mean that he didn't want to, though. He had always wanted to, though he had less courage than a craven. Ever since he saw her tending to her hopes and fears, independently. She was strong, he knew that. Strong enough to shape a friend out of him, the worst specimen of all humans to make friends with. Had she not done so, they would not have been able to break free from their seemingly inescapable loneliness. She was strong enough to survive the waves of cruelty from others who misunderstood her; strong enough to stay.

However, all of her strengths inadvertently brought out one simple, unexpected weakness from deep inside of him – the cardinal rule that never should have been broken:–

_Never fall in love with your best friend_.

No matter if it was illogical because he did not know how 'love' felt like.

Maybe _love_ was ignited by a sudden burst of dopamine from the ventral tegmental area of his brain, flooding his caudate nucleus. Maybe it could explain the way he was feeling _now_, because now he felt as if he understood _everything._

Claire was not helping him in the slightest. He was spiralling down, down...and further down; as he turned her face towards his and leaned closer, their noses touching. Her eyes were hazy, believing that this was just another one of her childlike dreams. One where she was being pursued by a dangerous predator, who was hell-bent on hunting her down, and...

It should have been a nightmare. But it wasn't.

Her mouth opened, yet no voice came. It formed a word he knew well – "Gabriel," she pleaded, which he quickly replied with a word he had became particularly fond of over the past few months:

"_Claire." _

--

He woke to find Claire sleeping soundly in his arms, her hand clutching the front of his shirt while the other was placed gingerly on his waist. He winced at the pressure sores he must have gotten from sleeping on the floor of Virginia's apartment, before slowly disentangling himself from Claire. Finally sitting up against the door, he let Claire's head rest on his lap, before running his fingers through her hair, watching her sniff unconsciously as she repositioned herself for better comfort. Something tugged in Gabriel's heart as he traced dried tears on her cheeks, tricking him into thinking that he might have lost one woman in his life, but Claire...

She was not just some insignificant substitute.

He wondered what he could possibly have done to deserve having her in his life. He wondered if he was just hoodwinked into thinking that she really, honestly cared about him.

The clock on the wall read 12.36 a.m.

The France snow globe she had bought for Virginia lay unharmed beside her. And to think of what he had wanted to do with it when he previously held it.

With one deep breath, Gabriel reached down and carried her to his bedroom, before tucking her into bed.

Before switching the lights off, he leaned down and placed one light kiss on her lips, and left the room.

--

Claire stepped out from Gabriel's bedroom red-eyed, with dishevelled hair and crumpled shirt. The sight that greeted her looked far better than the mess that she was.

"Good morning, Claire," Gabriel raised his little coffee cup from the kitchen table with a tired smile. She had to rub her eyes several times before acknowledging that this strange man in the kitchen was indeed Gabriel Gray. Without his glasses, he looked as endearing as always; except that he wasn't wearing his normal attire of crisply pressed buttoned up shirts smartly tucked into his pants, or his trademark sweater vest.

It was a buttoned up black shirt (despite being a rumpled up one), and the few top buttons were left undone; the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. She had never seen him dressed in dark colours. A little scruffy, she thought, as if Gabriel woke up that morning and conveniently decided to ignore the hints of stubble growing on his jaw. His hair was damp, she noticed; he probably just got out of shower and left it uncombed.

He looked as if he had just been cured of a bad case of hangover, and looked devilishly wicked.

"Morning," she cleared her throat, knowing exactly how horrible she must have looked.

"If you wish to use the shower, it is over there," he pointed. "A spare and unused toothbrush is inside the first top shelf, the toothpaste is in the second. And uh," he stood up, "I better get you a towel."

Claire nodded tensely.

When he emerged with a towel in his hands, Claire managed a barely audible "Thanks," before he replied with a "You can take as much time as you like, I shall make us some breakfast. Eggs alright?"

--

"Forgive me if I scared you yesterday. I have never felt so much anger in my life. I thought I was strong enough to control it. I was wrong," Gabriel told her once she was seated at the table.

She picked up a fork and shook her head. "To be honest with you, I was freaked out. You don't have to say sorry for anything. I would've acted the same you did. But it's all good now, right?" She inhaled deeply. "How do you feel now?"

"Calmer? Relieved?" he shrugged indecisively. "I do not know how I feel."

"What are you going to do now? With this house?"

"I will just let it be. In case I need to come to New York in the future, I could stay here. I will not sell it or rent it to anyone. Of that I am certain."

She chewed on her eggs silently, before her gaze flickered on a particular snow globe behind him. Inadvertently, she stood up and walked towards it, before holding it delicately in her hands. Gabriel turned around swiftly in confusion.

"Is this you?" she held it to him, a snow globe with a photo of a boy trapped inside it. He gritted his teeth in mortification. "Uhh, yes."

"Why didn't I notice this here before?"

"I hid it when you came to visit," Gabriel admitted, before turning back to the table and finished his eggs quietly.

That drew a hearty laugh from Claire. "Oh, why did you do that? Why would you hide this?"

"Because..." Gabriel flailed his hand almost comically in search for an applicable reason, "it is embarrassing. Who puts their sons' faces in snow globes?"

Claire placed the snow globe back on the shelf before catching Gabriel's hand mid air, massaging the junction between his thumb and forefinger idly. "It's cute. You're cute. I think it's about time someone tells you that," she flicked the tip of his nose.

He eyed her suspiciously, as if saying, 'Are you even listening to yourself?' Instead, he asked her, "How was your ankle? I might have pulled it a little too roughly yesterday."

"Oh," Claire gasped and peeked down to her feet. "Miraculously, it doesn't hurt the way I thought it would. I'm totally fine," she assured him. "By the way, I'm curious. Can you see without your glasses?"

He rubbed his nose where Claire had touched him. "I am myopic. But it is not causing me many problems, even without glasses. I will need to get a new pair of prescription when I return home, though."

A moment ticked away before she spoke again. "Home," she smiled. Gabriel leaned into her touch as she pressed their intertwined hands to his cheek, looking up at her as she made her point clear. "Let's go home."

"Let's go home," he nodded meaningfully.

_to be continued..._

* * *

A/N#2: The notes at the start of this chapter may have sounded a little too...cheerful, given the nature of this chapter. I try not to give anything away too much, but I suppose Gabriel's dark side is starting to show, although he is able to control it -- which would not have been possible in this chapter without Claire, imho. Notice that he was the one who realized his true feelings for her, despite him initially being the reluctant participant in the friendship.

Okay. So here's how I felt when I was writing the chapter: I've been doing some research on Gabriel's background based on the series, and rewatched the whole thing from S1-3, the nerd that I am. I may be biased towards the character of Sylar, but I could not help but feel sorry for him, for all the lies and manipulations he had to live through. Gabriel (in the show) lived in isolation and suffered from intense underappreciation, which could have been one of the factors that led to him become Sylar. Most people had...other people to lean on, to reach out to, but he didn't. At this point, I cried.

Because no one in the world deserved to be left alone like that.

Others may argue that he had always been mentally unstable to begin with, but isn't that more reason not to hurt him anymore? I've noticed that as long as he had someone to care about -- Elle, Angela, Noah Gray, it gave him focus; a suppression to his hunger. What if Claire was meant to be the one who could give this focus some permanence?

With that in mind, this chapter was born.

Sorry for the rambling. I couldn't help it. :p

Also...the whole dopamine line is a fact. There's an increase of dopamine production from the ventral tegmental area of the brain and activation of the caudate nucleus when someone falls in love. Just thought you'd like to know. :)


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Hello, guys! :)_

_Back with another chapter. This time, it's gonna be less intense than the previous chapter, but more...schmoop? You'll be the judge. ;p_

* * *

Chapter 10

_October_

This questionable behaviour was uncalled for.

Ian was just one floor beneath them. She was supposed to be with him. She said she would see him to pick up some lecture notes she had missed.

Ian had persuaded her to confide in him, whatever was bugging her, because she had been acting weird since finding out about Virginia's accident. She had not told him a single thing, but even then he had mentioned Gabriel's name. Ian had heard from others that Gabriel had disappeared for weeks, and asked her if she knew anything about it. She didn't know if he'd noticed, but her knuckles had gone a paler shade of white.

She had told him that she needed to go to New York to sort out some 'affairs'.

It wasn't a lie. Merely omission of vital facts.

Because Gabriel was her _affair_.

She had not been sure if Ian could handle the news that she was going to skip classes in order to console his neighbour-turned-her-best-friend. Ian probably had enough of her disappearing acts every other weekend (and sometimes weekdays); an unplanned trip to New York to find Gabriel would definitely ignite his combustion system.

On the other hand, Gabriel was back to his normal self, although there were moments when he seemed so far away. Lost in an unreachable place, where he would undoubtedly tend to his psychological wounds.

But she digressed.

The questionable behaviour in particular was how they ended up in Gabriel's bed, snuggled contentedly against each others' pliant bodies, melding perfectly. They were still fully dressed in their nightwear – him in his mandatorily striped PJs, her in one of his rarely-worn, crumpled dress shirts, wrestling with the sheets as Gabriel fought to wake up against his heavy-lidded eyes, in order to make breakfast.

She had never seen him like this. It was the first time at the lake all over again, when she first saw him out of his work attire. It was like the day of Virginia's funeral, when he had experienced true, powerful, raw emotions for the first time. It was like the morning after, when he had looked so vulnerable and yet so strong in the wake of a tragedy; unpretentiously behaving as _Gabriel Gray_ as he saw himself, instead of the Gabriel Gray he had been forced to show to the rest of the world.

Not to mention that he had been scruffy over coffee. Who in the world could have seen that but her?

They had a Lord of the Rings marathon the night before. After The Return of the King ended, the wee hours of morning were spent by his window with his telescope, stargazing. Feeling drowsy, she had insisted on sleeping on the couch, but he had strongly insisted on letting her have the bed. In the end, they had decided to share.

"Don't go just yet," Claire implored. Gabriel obeyed, his head lolling back onto the pillow with a soft thud. She took the opportunity to ruffle his hair teasingly. She had forgotten how he must have looked with shorter hair, because ever since he decided against a haircut (after his last one two months ago), the temptation to run her fingers through his dark hair became undeniably stronger.

As if on cue, he muttered sleepily, "I need a haircut."

--

If he had known that this would happen, he wouldn't have taken her out for brunch. Mohinder was now eyeing him up and down with a bemused expression; a woman with olive complexion whom he believed must be of Hispanic descent was by Mohinder's side. "Dr. Gray, how nice to see you here," he beamed merrily.

"Indeed. Likewise. I did not expect to see you around, Dr. Suresh," Gabriel narrowed his eyes vigilantly.

"Ah," Mohinder turned to the woman beside him and said, "I trust you know Dr. Gabriel Gray?" The Hispanic woman nodded with a smile, before extending her arm towards Gabriel. "I'm Maya Herrera. Dr. Suresh is the principal director for my group's current research project."

Hesitantly, Gabriel took up Maya's offer of a handshake before pulling away. "And who is the beautiful lady friend by your side, Dr. Gray?" Mohinder asked, trying hard to suppress a growing grin. It wasn't as if he didn't know. Oh, he knew alright. But teasing Gabriel was always fun.

Especially about this.

"Dr. Suresh, Miss Herrera," Gabriel began, "this is Claire Petrelli," he said formally, before introducing Mohinder and Maya to Claire.

"I am honoured to have finally met you, Miss Petrelli," Mohinder smiled. "Gabriel sure couldn't stop talking about you." Gabriel's eyes widened as soon as Mohinder had finished talking.

"It's wonderful to actually meet somebody who works with him, too!" Claire replied excitedly, before casting an elfin glance at Gabriel. He had wanted to wipe the cold sweat now forming on his forehead, but that would be an obvious sign of his discomfort.

"You could sit with us," Maya offered earnestly. "We just got here so we haven't ordered anything yet."

Gabriel sighed. It would be too rude to decline, so he said, "I believe that is a fascinating idea," and managed a grim smile, before pulling up a chair for Claire.

--

"He seemed like a nice guy, that Dr. Suresh," Claire commented as they made their way back to their apartments. He linked his little finger with hers as they walked side by side, eyes on the pavement beneath his feet.

"Hmm. He is polite. He does not get on my nerves. A little too passionate about his self-proclaimed 'brilliant' ideas, but yes...I believe he does constitute the definition of 'nice'," Gabriel pondered. "Curious that I was not previously made aware of his relationship with Miss Herrera, though. Seeing them together in an intimate fashion today was certainly surprising."

"Intimate," she repeated dryly. She managed to walk another step before Gabriel tugged on her hand, pulling her back as he stopped in his stride. "If I may ask," his stern gaze now concentrating solely on her, "How would you define the status of your relationship with Ian at this moment? And please do not recite your current status on Facebook, because you and I both now it is bollocks."

"It's not bollocks. It is complicated. I wouldn't expect you to understand what's going on between Ian and me right now," she responded defensively.

Gabriel pulled her closer, deeper into the shade. "I need to understand," he beseeched keenly, before closing his eyes and sighed deeply. "Claire, he has been knocking on my door several times this week, asking me how you were. I did not see the magnitude of the situation until now. It appears to me that you and I have been spending more time than you did with your boyfriend. That shouldn't be right, should it?" he frowned fixedly, studying every fibre of her being.

"Oh God," she buried her face in her palms, "I can't believe he actually did that."

"He was concerned about you. I was told that you did not spend as much time with him as he would have liked. This led me to the conclusion that you did not see him at all when in fact, you were in the building, visiting me instead."

Claire's face paled as if she had just seen a ghost.

"I do not know if I should feel flattered or guilty," Gabriel pressed on apprehensively. "I have never found myself entrapped in such social situations. I do not know how to react further without collecting supplementary information regarding your relationship with Ian. Forgive me if the query was an intrusion to your personal life. I certainly did not mean it to be taken in that light," he gulped.

She bit her thumbnail, figuring out how exactly she could explain this without losing her mind first. In the end, she gave up and blurted out, "It's complicated."

Gabriel stared at her impassively before brusquely looking away, shaking his head in unconcealed disappointment. Claire ran after him and twirled him around so she could explain, before she realized that he was smiling wryly. "Oh, Claire," he tilted his head, "I wish you knew."

"Know what?"

Gabriel opened his mouth as if to say something, but in the end he settled with, "Nothing. It is not important."

Claire huffed. "Gabriel...?"

"It is _not _important."

Claire huffed. "Alright. I'm going to tell you what's important. My relationship with Ian, I don't think it's going anywhere. I don't miss him when he's not around. Now he's sleeping with Debbie Marshall from our class, and I don't even give a damn about him having a friend-with-benefit because I just don't, and— oh," the realization finally dawned on her.

"He's sleeping with—uh, what? Claire, I am not following."

"Gabriel, I think Ian thinks that you're my friend-with-benefit," she gasped.

"I am _still_ not following."

Claire shook her head in disbelief, before grabbing Gabriel's hand.

"Follow me," she said.

--

Today was destined to be the most surreal day of Gabriel's life. First, he was amused at the immense lack of communication between Claire and Ian, which led her to this moment where she was proclaiming to the Englishman that he had never slept with her – fair enough, he thought; if taken in the sexual context of speaking.

Now, Ian was looking at him as if he would like to start a war.

Not productive at all.

It was exactly like what Claire had said – it's complicated, especially when Ian admitted to wrongly assuming that she was sleeping with him.

"What made you think that I was sleeping with Gabriel?" he heard Claire asked, with a high-pitched-tone he had never heard her use before.

"What made you think Claire was sleeping with me?" Gabriel echoed the query, because to be honest, even he was quite perplexed with Ian's blind theory -- one that had enabled him to sleep with a certain Miss Debbie Marshall. Because in Ian's logic, it was only fair for him to do so.

Claire had spoken again, Gabriel realized, while Ian rubbed his temple reproachfully. "This is so weird," she jeered. "I didn't even realize that we're in some sort of an open relationship until now. Which is the exactly the type of relationship you think we're having right now, isn't it?"

The atmosphere was thick enough that Gabriel thought he could slice it with a butter knife. "I do not think I should be privy to this conversation," he started to get up, gathering his things to leave.

Ian's voice thundered through the room. "No. Stay. You're part of this now, whether you like it or not."

Gabriel immediately sat back down, watching as Ian and Claire exchange irate glances with one another.

"Sorry for being the only one concerned enough to salvage our relationship. Sorry for being rightfully jealous of someone who's driving my girlfriend away from me. Sorry for jumping to conclusions, but anyone can see how you're fawning over him as you once obviously did with Peter-,"

_Slap._

That must have stung. Gabriel recoiled in his seat. He should not be here and bear witness to the beginnings of an end. How did he get involved in this entanglement, anyway? His mind travelled back to the day he first met her, causing blood to travel away from his peripheries. "Shouldn't have returned her cellphone. Shouldn't have volunteered to carry her suitcase. Shouldn't have talked to her at all!" he berated inwardly, before he remembered that he had had this particular discussion with his own self before.

If he hadn't helped her that day, he wouldn't have been the man he was today.

Immediately a bigger sense of guilt returned to haunt him, as he wondered if he really was the reason for the commotion happening in front of him. But why would he want Claire to break it off with Ian, if he was a considerate friend? Shouldn't he be helping them patch things up? When did he become so selfish? Why did he want Claire all for himself?

"I'm sorry too. I'm sorry for not breaking this off with you sooner. I'm sorry for not realizing what an ass you are. I'm sorry, because even if I hadn't met Gabriel, I would have still done this. It's not his fault," she said aggressively, her nostrils flared. "It was never his fault. Gabriel has never said anything bad about you. If anything, he continually praises you. Maybe it's my fault then, because I was so blind. Because you...oh, Peter was so right about you," Claire retorted heatedly.

Ian shot Gabriel another fierce look. Gabriel took off his new pair of glasses and tipped his head back, staring back at Ian with equal ferocity. 'Listen to her,' the look must have implied, because Ian visibly flinched and turned his head back to look at Claire.

"I didn't even know why I fell for you. It happened so fast. You were in every way a Prince Charming. And that accent," Claire chuckled wryly, "God, who wouldn't fall for that accent? And I was such a hopeless romantic."

"Claire, we still can fix this. You asked for some space. I gave you space. I even let you move out from this apartment because I want you to be happy. But everything I do doesn't seem to be enough. What do you really want?" Ian reached for her, but she slid away from him just as when he was about to touch her.

"We already had this conversation, but you just don't seem to understand that what you do is sometimes more than enough. I feel saturated. Overwhelmed. I may have moved out but you never gave me that room I need to breathe. I find out that you've been sleeping with Debbie and I don't feel anything. I'm not angry, I'm not...sad. In fact I'm pleased that you've found someone else. So what do I want? Maybe I want us to be over because we're just not meant for each other."

"Did Peter put you up to all this?" Ian asked, his voice dripping with hurt and trepidation all rolled in one. "Did Debbie say anything to you?"

"No. I did this out of my own will," Claire admitted truthfully, despite knowing that it would hurt Ian's pride. His monumental, incorrigible ego. "It should hurt me to know that the morning I moved into this apartment, you were over at Debbie's. I wasn't hurt at all, curiously. And yes, Debbie confessed everything."

This was an interesting development.

"That had been a mistake! I don't even love her. We didn't even talk to each other after that--,"

"Until you thought that I was sleeping with Gabriel," she cut him off crossly. "Very clever, Ian. You smother me, and when you can't smother me anymore, you assumed the worst of me. And then you took off without saying a word, while trying to find some new way to smother me further. Very commendable."

Even Gabriel could not believe his ears. Claire had known for quite some time about Ian's infidelity, but she did not take action against him because...

_Why? What was she waiting for?_

"You didn't trust me, Ian. Maybe I do fawn over Peter. Maybe I do fawn over Gabriel. You know what? He is my friend and he trusts me. I trust him. He listens to me the way Peter has listened to me...the way that you never will."

It all happened so quickly. Claire was laying down reasons of why her relationship with Ian would not work in one moment, before Gabriel felt a punch landing firmly on his face in the next.

It all happened so quickly.

Claire screamed "Stop it!" and tried to get Ian off Gabriel, but her words barely registered. In the meantime, Ian was sputtering out several variations of the phrase 'Son of a bitch' and 'You bastard', before swinging his fist for another blow. Gabriel managed to duck a split second before Ian's hand connected to the fluffy top edge of the sofa, taking the chance to wrench away and deliver his own hit directly onto Ian's abdomen.

If Ian had taken Gabriel for a weak opponent, he was exceptionally wrong. Certainly, in the many occasions Ian had asked Gabriel for help, he had been sizing the geek up in case this day was ever to happen. Ten out of ten times he would tell himself that he'd easily win the fight despite Gabriel's taller build. Gabriel was skinny, lanky; harmless.

So why was Gabriel the one who slammed him full strength onto the floor, restraining him on the ground? Ian was the jock material. Gabriel was supposed to be the bullied nerd.

Reality couldn't be more deluding than this, because Gabriel was currently the one dodging Ian's punches expertly, receiving hits occasionally without as much as an annoyed scowl, instead of painful growls that Ian had intended. Somewhere during their brawl, Gabriel's glasses had been knocked off; his pristinely brushed hair had gone wild and dishevelled. Suddenly, he wasn't so much of the nerd Ian knew anymore.

"Stop. It," Gabriel ordered menacingly above him, his strong fingers clutching Ian's jaw in a death grip. "Please desist from making a larger fool out of yourself," he told Ian again coolly, yet with a voice that could have roused Thanatos. The sight of Gabriel hovering over him with an unreadable stare incited an arcane fear that flowed through Ian's veins.

For the first time, Ian felt humbled; it was as if he was gazing into the immortal gaze of Death itself.

"Claire, could you go up to my apartment and get the first aid kit?" Gabriel bellowed, before helping Ian up. "I am sorry. I did not mean to injure you. I've avoided from hitting your face," he explained, before studying Ian's face intently. "There will be no obvious bruises, except maybe from where I gripped your jaw. Sorry about that, too. It had to be done."

Ian hissed in pain when he tried to lean forward.

"The hit on your abdomen was purely acted out of self defence," Gabriel blinked. "I suggest it best for you to limit your abdominal movements."

The click of the door indicated that Claire had gone upstairs to Gabriel's apartment, which led to an unbearable silence – except for the uninterrupted ticking of the clock.

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

Gabriel was bizarrely at ease with the reverberating sound, staying poised and motionless.

"She was right," Ian finally gathered himself together to speak. "Our relationship happened really fast. I didn't even know her well enough back then. I...uh," he sighed in frustration.

"Do you love her?" Gabriel asked promptly. Impassive.

Ian inhaled a great deal of air before letting out an unselfconfident, "I thought I did. But I didn't." He swallowed thickly and continued, "It was...lust at first sight. The love part came later. But it wasn't the kind of love needed to sustain a proper relationship. I still love her now but...it isn't...romantic, I don't think."

"Sex appeal is an essential element in the process of choosing a mate," Gabriel had wanted to say, but indisputably this was not an appropriate time. Even if it was meant in goodwill. Instead, he said something less heartless. Something he had observed; something true, if not close to the truth. "You do care about her. Or you would have not taken the initiative to ask me how she was each time you bump shoulders with me."

Ian shrugged.

"Do you love Debbie, then?"

"She's just a friend. I know she has feelings for me, but...I dunno..."

Gabriel appeared to mull over Ian's incomplete answer before glancing back at him. "There is one more thing. You have not answered our question. Why did you think Claire was sleeping with me?" he leaned back casually, sliding his tongue past his bloodied lip, wincing slightly at the taste of blood.

"Claire's never been close to anyone before. Apart from her uncle Peter. And me," Ian spoke ruefully. "Peter's family, I understand that. But then she met you...and something happened."

"You cannot believe that Claire is capable of maintaining a close relationship with a member of the opposite gender which does not involve sex," Gabriel inferred dully.

Ian nodded, "Because it had been the basis of our relationship."

"You saw me as a threat. As a result you became more protective of her, not realizing that you were growing increasingly possessive. More than you already have been. The more you kept her in, the more she wanted out."

"You gave her things I couldn't provide."

"I offered her friendship. Rather, she offered me friendship, but I digress," Gabriel tried to smile, but ended up clenching his jaw in pain. "You threw a good punch," he commented bluntly. "The act of masticating will be an utmost inconvenience."

The Englishman snickered weakly. "Sorry about that. I was too mad at you to use my head properly." He fell silent, before blurting out a question Gabriel had not anticipated. "Do _you_ love her?"

The door opened before Gabriel could muster a reply. But even then, Ian could see the answer reflected in Gabriel's intrepid eyes when Claire entered the apartment.

And he wasn't angry anymore, because he finally understood.

"Claire, I'm sorry," he stood up in haste, not even caring about the pain in his torso. Claire stopped in her stride, eyeing him suspiciously. "You were right. We can't go on like this. All I want is a chance for me to start over. As a, uh, friend. And nothing more," he said, before glancing down thoughtfully at Gabriel. The older man gazed back at Ian charily, before switching his focus on Claire.

"I understand if you don't want to talk to me after what I've done, I just –," he shook his head in defeat, before making an honest-to-God statement that made both Claire and Gabriel gasp in surprise. "You're really lucky to find a friend like him, you know? Because Gabriel loves you. Unconditionally. And that's something I have yet to learn to do."

Gabriel avoided Claire's gaze all day afterwards. He strongly wished that he could undergo an MRI scan to confirm the chemical reactions that might have caused him to feel this way – but it won't be that simple.

--

Gabriel had a haircut.

To an extent, Claire felt at loss, but he had opted for a faux-hawk style that reminded her of David Beckham. The idea itself was humorous, especially when Gabriel was placed in the equation, but it worked plausibly. The new prescription glasses were also broken during the Ian incident; Gabriel had to resort to wearing contact lenses for the time being.

The bruises on his face had healed faster than he had anticipated, and chewing food did not become a problem at all, to his astonishment. However, the lack of glasses and his scruffy appearance drew many inquisitive glances from his colleagues. Mohinder became the accidental perpetrator of gossip when he broke the news to Maya, who informed her friends, who informed their friends. By Monday noon, half the place had erupted with news that the usually quiet, reserved and once-bespectacled Dr. Gabriel Gray was involved with the New England Mafia.

Bored scientists make great gossipers.

"Hey," he greeted her heedlessly.

"Hi," she replied back. "Your hair," she began.

"I have no comment on the matter."

"Right," she tried to suppress a bubbling giggle. "I have an opinion to spare if you'd like to listen."

Gabriel cast a sharp sideway glance at her. "Proceed."

She moved gracefully towards his work desk and stood next to him, focusing her attention primarily at his head. "I think you look most dashing with your new haircut," she said, avoiding his eyes.

Gabriel sat up straight. "Dashing?" It was the last thing he would expect her to say. "That was a very...dashing adjective to use, Claire. Yet it still stands to be corrected," he professed carefully. He blinked his eyes once, twice, before inadvertently switching to a lost puppy look. "My head feels strange."

Her full lips curved up in a shrewd smile. "Have you looked at yourself in the mirror?"

"Yes, of course I have," he replied, a tad confused. "What motives did you aspire to conceal behind the question?"

"Correct me, then. What adjective is most applicable to describe your new appearance?"

Gabriel bit his bottom lip. "Strange?" he proposed unpersuasively.

Turning the swiveling chair so that they faced each other, she bent forward and grazed her fingers lightly at the sides of his head. "I prefer dashing," she half-whispered.

"If you say so," Gabriel gulped nervously, as Claire's fingers began to knead his scalp, pulling slightly at his hair, causing his head to jerk backwards. She wasn't sure of what she was doing anymore. Her initial intention was just to touch him for a fleeting second, but then his eyelids fluttered and his lips were parted and she swore she heard him moan and --

"Forgive the deficiency of a more appropriate vernacular," he panted softly, "but this feels so..._damn_...good." Gabriel's eyes were now shut tight, his long eyelashes beckoning her to move her thumb across his cheeks, while her other hand clutched behind his head.

She straddled him.

He stiffened. He did not move; he did not push her away. He was in shock. His dark eyes were wide open. He held his breath for as long as he could.

"Gabriel, I'm sorry!" she shrieked when she realized where her legs were. "I got carried away," she apologized profusely before trying to clamber off him. Warm hands held her hips firmly in place before they landed swiftly on her thighs. "It's alright," he murmured hoarsely. "Stay."

The last word was mouthed silently, but Claire understood. They remained like statues in what felt like hours.

He moved first.

His palm caressed her translucent cheeks, fingers drawing invisible threads at her ear. His thumb traced the bridge of her nose before going southwards, parting her lips slightly. Her breath hitched as he held her chin gently. His other hand traveled to the nape of her neck, his thumb pressed against her pulse. "Your heart rate is elevated," he drawled idly.

It felt like a long time since she last spoke. "You're playing doctor with me now?"

"I am a doctor," he reminded her.

"In engineering," she shot back instantaneously.

He did not reply. Instead, his eyebrows rose comically, inducing a moment of hilarity. "I am certified to do first-aid resuscitation as a member of the Red Cross Society."

It took her a lot of might to stop herself from saying, 'Then resuscitate me now because I'm breathless,' but Gabriel would not appreciate the lameness. Not ever.

Even if it was true.

What struck her more was how similar this was to the Spock-and-sexy-Romulan-commander scene in one of the Star Trek episodes Gabriel had forced her to watch. It had been mystifying for her then, because how could face caressing could be considered erotic? The theory did make sense, but in practicality, she had totally dismissed it.

"Claire," he said, finally, through clouded eyes. "Of all people," he tried to clear his mind, "you..." he trailed off, yet he did not let go of his stronghold on her. "Ian was wrong," he bit his lip in frustration.

"What do you mean?" she mumbled dazedly. Since the affray, she had been wondering what Gabriel had said that had caused change in Ian's attitude. There was no doubt that Ian had been taken aback by Gabriel's unforeseen belligerence. Claire had experienced that dark side of unrepressed anger, first hand. Seeing him exert a sum of it on Ian had been surreal, because for once Gabriel had taken control, overpowering Ian with strength and wit coalesced. Claire had felt a mixture of pride and intimidation – the dorky Gabriel was adorable in every sense, but a dark and dangerous Gabriel?

He was the devilish angel in disguise.

Logic dictated that they should spring free from each other the moment the knowledge hit them both, but she hadn't been a fan of logic anyway. Her gaze was locked with his, trying hard to read his mind. If she hadn't known better, she'd have said 'lust'.

But this was Gabriel, and Gabriel and 'lust' should not go hand-in-hand.

A carnal curiosity, then?

"I was wrong," he rephrased his words, "and maybe this is wrong," he ran his hand down the back of her spine. "I'm sorry, Claire."

He was sorry, because he didn't love her the way Ian had implied. This was not an unconditional love for a friend.

She did not understand. "Sorry for wh—umph,"

He kissed her --

Because he was unconditionally _in love_ with her.

_to be continued..._

* * *

A/N#2: This has to happen, sooner or later. All the previous chapters have been leading up to this. And for it to happen, Ian has to go. For Ian to go, this chapter was written to deal with it. You could still see some Sylaresque streaks in Gabriel, though. It hadn't been lost completely in the aftermath of the previous chapter. I suppose if Gabriel hadn't been intimidating towards Ian, the younger Brit would never let Claire slide that easily. He could see something in Gabriel that had changed, and that completely altered his view of the resident geeky neighbor, i.e; Gabriel Gray is no longer a spineless, cowardy nerd. He needs a dark side in him to balance himself out, to be a normal human being...

The question is, will he be able to prevent himself from being consumed by it? Would his feelings towards Claire change anything?

The point I'm making is vividly illustrated by the Star Trek TOS episode, The Enemy Within. You know, the one where good!Kirk and evil!Kirk are two separate entities left prowling aboard the Enterprise after a transporter mishap? (But this is a Heroes fic, so I'll leave it at that). :p

The next chapter is going to be...very different. I dunno if you guys are going to like it. But I'll worry about that later. As of now, I just want to hear your thoughts on this chapter!


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: And...this is where I feel that I deserve to be shot. I dunno what to make of this anymore. I'm suffering from a severe writer's block and I'll just accept temporary suckage for now...which means that the next chapters won't be as regular as it has been these past few weeks. I mean, I have it all thought out in my head but it just didn't sound good on paper, you know? I've got to revise the draft that I have at hand and perfect it before updating the next chapter. Also, we're descending towards the end of the fic, now. A few chapters to go, and I'm done. _

_Let's just enjoy this chapter first, shall we?_

_Gosh, I sound so angsty. Sorry. I still love you guys. A LOT. Who am I without you?_

* * *

Chapter 11

He could have blamed it on a surge of his testosterone drive, but he didn't.

He had kissed her.

It had meant to be a chaste kiss on the lips, but Gabriel had lunged precisely at the moment when her defenses were down. A square kiss that had lingered momentarily before they parted slightly, nuzzling each others' noses, pressing their foreheads to one another.

"I take it you wanted to ask, 'sorry for what,'" Gabriel breathed heavily.

Claire protested. "You don't need to say sorry for doing what you just did, because..." she trailed off without finishing her sentence. She claimed his lips for another kiss; slow, gentle. Gabriel responded shyly at first, hesitant, unsure; before his knack for understanding kicked in, causing him to match every subtle move she made and improvised.

The student slowly became the master.

She jolted in surprise when he deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring every curve of her mouth. What had started as a cautious seduction had become wild and reckless, as he tightened his hold on her while her arms travelled around his nape, fingers shoved firmly into his hair. There were teeth involved, she was sure of it. The unmistakable coppery tang of blood was now thrown in the mix, and she actually enjoyed the slight pain when Gabriel bit down on her bottom lip experimentally, as she panted for breath. She had no idea where _Claire _began and _Gabriel_ ended, not when she was doing the same to him -- biting, causing a deep growl to erupt from his throat.

When they finally parted for air, neither one was able to speak. Claire leaned breathlessly into Gabriel, sucking blood from her lip – his blood and hers combined, tonguing the soft tissue from where Gabriel bit her. Suddenly, Gabriel froze beneath her.

He froze at the same time when the spot where her bottom lip and gum met healed, leaving not a familiar feeling of soreness – instead she felt nothing, as if Gabriel had not bitten her at all.

"Claire."

"Gabriel."

They both uttered each other's names simultaneously, before Claire realized that he was looking at her strangely – as if he had never seen her before, as if she was different. "What just happened?" she asked him in a bare whisper, not referring to the kiss but something else entirely.

Something inexplicable.

"If you should know," he began, "I'm not wearing contact lenses, yet my vision has never been clearer than this."

"What...are you talking about?"

He scrambled for a penknife from the top of her desk and nervously shoved it into Claire's hand, holding his palm up to her. "Cut me. Please do not ask questions. Just, please, cut across my palm with this knife. It could get messy, but it is one way to make sure."

Claire looked at Gabriel incredulously before placing the sharp edge of the knife on Gabriel's flesh, teasing the soft spot with the tip before slashing across his palm in one swift motion. His skin sliced open, blood rushed madly from the wound. Claire pulled away in panic, the knife instantly forgotten. Gabriel gasped in pain, only to watch the wound close as fast as Claire had cut him, leaving no mark whatsoever. Only dried blood stained Gabriel's palm, causing Claire to cover her mouth in shock, eyes widened as she reached out to touch Gabriel's unscathed hand.

"I have every reason to believe that you are able to heal in this nature, too," he held up his bloodied hand. "Rapid cellular regeneration," he lamented, after a moment of a haunting hesitance.

Hazily, as if in a trance, Claire picked up the penknife she had used to cut Gabriel and did the same to her wrist. Deeply, quickly with its sharp blade. Gabriel leapt towards her when blood spurted from a torn artery, before the bleeding stopped and the skin was patched up to normal. Unscathed. "What the hell is going on?" she asked, her breaths coming up shorter with every second. "What the hell, is going on???"

"He was right," Gabriel fell down to his knees, head hung low as he rubbed his forehead, inadvertently transferring the blood from his palm to his face.

"Who, Gabriel? Who was right about what?"

"Dr. Suresh," Gabriel spoke vacantly, his eyes clouded with disbelief.

Claire's knees felt weak, she toppled to the ground on all fours and crept towards Gabriel. "Mohinder Suresh?"

"No," he denied tersely. "His father. Chandra Suresh. A geneticist."

As startling as this revelation was laid wide open before her, her cell phone suddenly rang and filled the unnerving quietness. She flinched from the sound, her hands shivered as she pressed the accept button. It was Peter.

"Peter?"

"Claire. I've got something to tell you. Please don't freak out."

"Huh?"

"Look outside the window."

She did.

Gabriel did, too.

The phone slipped from her hand as soon as she saw Peter.

He was flying.

--

----

--------

Had he not applied for a job at MIT, had he not moved to Massachusetts, had he stayed in New York, Gabriel Gray would have met Chandra Suresh. According to his mother, the good doctor had came all the way from Chennai to find him, only to be confronted with the news that he had embarked on a new life, in a new place.

And that had been that, until one month later.

The elder Suresh had called him from New York, asking if Gabriel was interested to partake in a research he was conducting. A simple invitation then progressed into cerebral discussions about evolution and the mysteries of the human DNA. Gabriel had never experienced so much intellectual enjoyment. The idea of being part of a genetic drift that could potentially produce a new breed of humans with abilities seemed farfetched...but a design he was still able to entertain. Despite his many affirmations to Dr. Suresh that he had never demonstrated signs of having special abilities, the doctor insisted that they should meet anyway.

The anticipated visit by Dr Chandra Suresh never came. Instead, Gabriel was unexpectedly greeted by another Dr. Suresh in his office a fortnight later, telling him that Chandra Suresh had been murdered in a cab.

Robbed of his belongings, robbed of his life.

Dr. Mohinder Suresh was the elder doctor's son, whose unfinished research had brought him across the seas, to find the last person who had been in contact with his father -- whom decidedly would be Gabriel Gray, originally from Queens, New York; now a Principal Research Scientist at MIT, Cambridge, Massachusetts.

Thus were the events that had culminated in Mohinder's decision to stay in the States and work at MIT, before he became known as the only person who could maintain a non-work-related conversation with Gabriel for more than 15 minutes.

Chandra Suresh's research was abandoned in its entirety. Mohinder was a sceptic, and Gabriel's supposed 'ability' never did manifest. Content with his life and his new job, the topic was never pursued again. The only farewell gift Gabriel had received from the late doctor was a book titled 'Activating Evolution', authored by the man himself. A sticky note with Gabriel's name and Massachusetts address was still attached to the front cover.

--

"Please tell me this is all a dream, that I'm not some freak..." Claire shook her head, as the three of them – Peter, Gabriel and herself sat in her living room, pondering the consequences of their newfound abilities. Chandra Suresh's book was laid open in the middle of the triangle, half forgotten in the wake of Gabriel's past history with the ill-fated doctor.

"It was in _my_ dream. The only difference now is it has come true. And you're not a freak. Neither of us are," Peter replied almost acidly, as if he was still hesitant to accept this new fantasy-like reality. Gabriel could hear elation hidden somewhere in Peter's tone, nevertheless.

"You're a clairvoyant _and_ you could fly at the same time?" she asked in astonishment.

"No, no. The flying I got from Nathan. I don't know about the dreaming."

"Nathan could fly?" Claire's breath shortened, before pressing her throbbing temples with two fingers from each hand.

"There is a strong familial connection here," Gabriel commented flatly. "It seemed that you can absorb other people's abilities and mimic them empathically," he said to Peter, who was caught between smiling and frowning when Gabriel started to speak. "Therefore," Gabriel inferred, "the precognitive dreaming must also come from a source close to you. Have you considered other family members to have precognitive dreaming? Your mother, perhaps?"

"No. No, I don't. I don't know," Peter blinked anxiously, before a quizzical expression formed on his face. "How do you know so much anyway?"

Gabriel shrugged. "I didn't know anything until just now. I was merely postulating from the current information at hand."

"You could heal!" Claire said to Gabriel eagerly, as if this was the only positive news she could handle – because they shared the same ability. "Rapid cellular regeneration," she pointed to the chapter title on a dog-eared page of Suresh's book. "Like me."

"No. It's different, I --," he frowned, "I couldn't heal at first. You could. I mean, I understand how things work, remember? I...understand how it works. How you healed. I merely...replicated the ability. An intuitive aptitude, if you like."

"So you're like Peter, then. Except that you absorbed and mimicked my ability instead."

"Not...quite," Gabriel mused. "Peter doesn't have to be intuitive. He only has to remember; to feel empathy... he's an empath. It was more complicated for me because," he paused in reservation, "I felt _it_ first, without any understanding of what _it_ really was. But the need to understand had consumed me. Begets me to have this uncanny urge to slice your head open with a surgical scalpel and probe every sulcus and gyrus of your brain, simply to enhance my comprehension. An urge which, if physically conducted, could theoretically break all ethical and law principles," he added disturbingly.

Claire gave Gabriel a horror-stricken-look. The reaction was logical, Gabriel thought, especially after the vividly detailed descriptions of his inhumane intentions. But he still had to set the record straight, to tell her that he would never let himself hurt her. Not one scratch. Never.

Remorsefully, he shut his eyes and shrugged. "But," he entreated, "The hunger dissipated. A nanosecond after the disconcerting thought had reached me, it went away. It must be due to...oh," he groaned uncomfortably when realization hit him.

"Due to what?" Claire asked with that bold, determined tone he knew so well.

"Let's just say that I have experienced an intense emotion. For you," he inhaled deeply. "Which aided my comprehension of your ability, somehow. Without any need for encephalectomy, thank God. And if my hypothesis is correct," he stared at Peter, who was now worried about the safety of his cranium than anything else, "I could now..." Gabriel trailed off and stood up...

...levitated...

...before succumbing to the powers of gravity, touching the ground beneath his feet.

"..._fly._"

--

The general consensus was to find Mohinder and tell him that his father had been right all along.

It didn't take long for Gabriel to wait until the younger Suresh pick up his phone and greeted him with a British accented, "Hello."

It didn't take long for Mohinder to quickly point out that Gabriel was crazy.

It didn't take long for Gabriel to convince Mohinder otherwise. Gabriel was already knocking on Mohinder's apartment door by the time he concluded a lengthy explanation of why his father's research was a dead end. The sight that greeted him when he opened the door was enough as Gabriel's winning rebuttal.

--

Peter flew back to New York that night. And to think that he flew all the way to Cambridge, all 185 miles of it, just to tell Claire that he could...fly.

A sacrifice well worth making, nonetheless, because at least he knew he wasn't alone. Nathan may not wish to accept who they were and what they were becoming, but Peter had every reason to persuade him otherwise; convince him that this was more than a freakishly superhuman power.

He had dreamed of this; this bizarre family affair.

He had dreamed of this; of Claire and Gabriel, of the profound connection they shared with one another.

He had dreamed of this, and it was slowly coming true.

* * *

Gabriel and Claire found themselves sitting on the roof of Gabriel's building, looking up at the stars, trying to make sense of what just happened. "What a day," Claire dramatically sniffed.

"A rhetorical question," Gabriel glanced at Claire amusedly, "I wouldn't know how to answer that."

"I woke up this morning thinking, what interesting things would I do with you on a beautiful Saturday like this. Slicing up our wrists in front of Dr. Suresh definitely wasn't one of them. Seeing Peter fly was obviously out of the picture," she fumed confoundedly.

"I suppose taking turns to jump off from buildings with me was not in your schedule either," he replied, before shaking his head. "No, let me rephrase that. Taking turns to jump off from 20-feet tall buildings, breaking some bones, twisting some joints, and fracturing some skulls before healing ourselves back to normal, all in less than a minute," he bit his bottom lip reservedly.

"Nope. Definitely not written in my schedule," Claire shook her head and sighed. "Especially when you put it that way," she shut her eyes tightly. "God, I'm a freak," she grimaced, in a stab to stop herself from shedding useless tears. Gabriel progressed to wrap a comforting arm around her, resting his chin on her head. "If you are a freak as you have so proclaimed, then Peter and I theoretically will be twice a freak because of the extra things we can do."

That earned a muffled giggle from Claire. "Can you believe it? The political Petrelli family has become a family of freaks. Although actually I kind of figured that out a long time ago," she huffed cynically.

"You are not a freak. We are not freaks. Evolved superhumans, perhaps, but not freaks. We do not have pointed ears or visible feathery wings growing behind our backs. No extra tentacles, no retractable claws..." he murmured distractedly, shivering slightly from the sudden chill of the air.

"You may not realize this, Gabriel, but you know just the right things to say to make me feel better," Claire buried her face onto his chest. He could feel her smile against him as he ran his fingers along her soft hair, combing it back from where the autumn winds had it tousled. "So, Mohinder took our DNA samples, going to run some tests, compare the results against his father's formula...then what?" Anxiety was evident in her voice.

"Do you remember Chandra Suresh's name list of humans with potential abilities? If our test results come out positive, which I considerably believe it will, consequently we can track down others who are similar to us," he explained. "I shall assist Mohinder with laboratory work."

Claire pulled away only to stare boldly into his eyes. "We're expanding the list, aren't we?"

"Yes," Gabriel agreed. "Now it is up to Peter to find...these men...Brian Davis and Isaac Mendez in New York, and we shall confirm if Chandra Suresh's list is accurate," Gabriel commented. "Were you disappointed that your name wasn't in the list? Or Peter's? Or Nathan's, for that matter?"

Claire touched her wrist where a scar should have formed, rubbing the spot absentmindedly. "I don't know. Should I be thrilled? Should I be disappointed? Now's really the time that I wish I have your logic, you know? So I don't get drowned in a sea of conflicted emotions?" she breathed, before exhaling soundly. "All I'm thinking now is, 'is this real?' I mean, those people in the list. Who are they? What other things can they do? Are they like you, or me, or a homeless man on the street?"

Gabriel neared her and took her hand gingerly in his, before pressing his lips to her wrist. "You may not have my logic. But you have me. It shall be our enterprise to find out who the people in the list are. They worth more than just names, of that I am certain. Well," he blinked, "At least you are already well acquainted with one of them," he knitted his brows together in baited breath, waiting for her response.

She laughed heartily. Finally. And about time, too. "Is that your attempt to make a joke?"

"Not an attempt to make a joke. Merely stating a fact," Gabriel pursed his lips impishly. "My name _is_ in the list," he reminded her.

"I know," she said, turning his hand to look at his palm where he had cut himself. "And to think that you knew something all along, but couldn't do anything about it because you weren't given the chance," she sighed. "What do you think would have happened if you had stayed in New York?"

He tried not to think about Claire drawing number eights on his palm, or whatever haptic patterns she was tracing with her forefinger. Instead, Gabriel concentrated hard to give her a plausible answer. "I would have worked in a sad watch shop somewhere in Brooklyn," he began, which incited a chuckle from Claire. "Don't stop, tell me," she eyed him amusingly. "Hypothetically, watch shop. Go on..."

"Yes, Claire, a watch shop," he narrowed his eyes, giving her a failed angry look. "The late Dr. Suresh, bless his soul, would have found me. We would have an interesting discussion about..."

"Watches," Claire finished for him, which earned her another faux-annoyed glance.

"Thank you, Claire," he rolled his eyes, "but I am not that predictable. Rather, we would have a long and winded discussion about evolution and DNA and...brains, perhaps..?"

Claire cleared her throat at 'brains', because Gabriel had specifically said something involving surgical scalpels and her brain earlier today. Gabriel must have noticed this, because he took the opportunity to squeeze her hand and said, "Please do not get offended by my frank confession this morning. Trust me I would never do something so unethical. Although encephalectomy is undoubtedly a fascinating procedure--,"

"Gabriel!"

"Sorry. Where were we? Oh. Discussions about brains. He would probably make me a test subject for his research. Undergo an endless set of experiments...only to endure a countless set of negative results. And hypothetically I would be devastated."

"He'd probably call you 'Patient Zero' to make you sound posh," Claire chipped in, which produced a poorly stifled chuckle from Gabriel. "Hold on," she stilled, "Why would the results turn out negative?"

"Well," he pushed the bridge of his nose where his glasses would have been, "You and I have not met in this hypothetical situation. A watchmaker from Queens and a socialite from Manhattan? The probability of us having a chance encounter in New York would be less than 0.1%."

Statistics. It was something Claire could happily live without.

"In addition, I do not believe that I would have a much better understanding of my ability had you not appeared in my life," Gabriel perorated.

"There are always other people with abilities that you can make friends with. People in the list. Brian Davis. Isaac Mendez," she pointed out unwittingly.

"You are right. Regrettably, neither Isaac Mendez nor Brian Davis is _Claire Petrelli_," he rubbed his tired eyes. "You have no idea how hard it is for me to make friends with even one person. Even if I do meet someone with abilities, I may not have the patience to endure a forced friendship just to understand that I need to..._understand._ I may end up performing illegal encephalectomy on an innocent subject, committing manslaughter instead. An act which I strongly do not condone, by the way," he tipped his head to one side, completely contemplative about the matter.

Claire looked at him disapprovingly. "For a beautiful mind, you're very morbid, you know that?"

"I might have inherited that trait from my biological father. He used to run a taxidermy business in New Jersey," he countered back, almost flippantly. "Also, serial killers are usually people with high IQs."

"Taxider—uh, okay," Claire raised a brow, shaking off an image of a stuffed Mr. Muggles. Worse, a stuffed Harold. "You are seriously telling me that you would be a brain-poking serial killer if you had stayed in New York?" she asked, bemused.

"A brain-poking _superpowered_ serial killer," Gabriel's gaze shifted comically. That is indeed the worst-case-scenario, yes. But then again maybe I have watched too many slasher films."

"Hmm," Claire crossed her arms. "If you were a serial killer who steals powers from other evolved superhumans, would you come for me eventually? Hypothetically speaking, of course."

"Would I come for you and steal your power?" Gabriel tried not to smile. "Oh, I definitely would," his eyelids lowered, his voice dipping to that dangerous territory Claire tried hard not to replay in her head each time before she went to bed. "You are the invincible girl. That statement speaks for itself," a slight curve etched upwards at the corners of his mouth. "But you would have an entire family backing you up. Peter, Nathan. Your grandmother. It is going to be an arduous task."

"Invincible girl, huh?" her eyes twinkled in the dimmed light.

"Yes, indeed you are. Hypothetically, I wouldn't kill you even if I wanted to. You can never die," Gabriel shrugged.

"And now I guess, neither can you," Claire interlaced their fingers together, letting the aching realization sink deep in her heart, mind and soul.

Gabriel swallowed nervously and took a deep breath. This was no longer a hypothetical situation. They were heading towards the plain truth, in plain sight. "Neither can I," he whispered in agreement. He knew that the next time Claire spoke, it would not be a theoretical question; the answer could no longer be imagined out from thin air.

This was their descent into reality now, falling faster than ever, praying to God that they won't crash and burn. Except that they would survive to tell the pain.

He could survive this.

"I knew there was something weird going on with me. I fall and bruise myself, and the doctors always say that I heal quicker than other kids my age. When I think about it, I don't think I've ever fallen sick. Never had one scratch on me," she deliberated pensively. "That day when I went to see you after your mom died, I swear I twisted my ankle when you tried pulling me back down," she confessed.

"I noticed," Gabriel squeaked quietly, his voice sounded strangely grouchy. "It was the day that I felt 'it'. Something was different about you, and it was transforming me as well...as if the process was accelerated in one day," he swallowed. "I could not understand it at first, but I knew what I saw. You're different. You're special," he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand; quivering. "Forgive me for bringing this up again, Claire, but --," he paused, as if saying the next few lines would be the most painful experience in his life. "That night in New York...it was the night that I craved to understand you. I was _that _close to knock you down and see into your head. But in a merciful instant I became scared of myself, of the monster I was about to become. Now I am ashamed for even allowing that evil thought to enter my mind, because I never meant to hurt you."

She should be scared of him, disgusted by his confession. But she knew better than that. This was the same man she had encountered on the staircase of his apartment building, the man who had returned her cell phone, the man whose door she had ranted at. An adorable man who owned a most adorable cat. His appearance may have been altered; with that bed hair and bedroom eyes, naked eyes unguarded from the glasses that he once wore -- but he was still the same Gabriel Gray inside.

"You won't be a murderer, Gabriel. Because you're not. And I've never been gladder to have you in my life." She ran her fingers along his stubbled jaw, causing him to lean into the tingly sensation, almost reluctantly. "You've now become an empath, like Peter. You said that you felt 'it'. What did you feel, exactly? What was the intense emotion that you felt for me?"

Her acceptance was what he truly needed, as if it was his step towards redemption from what his brutal thoughts of her. Claire's huge eyes were earnest. They were not teasing him, no. They were downright curious and demanding. And they were smiling at him warmly; telling him that his coming to Massachusetts had been a right decision, meeting her had been a brilliant decision, befriending her had been a splendid choice...

"It is not something I could explicate through words," he blurted out. Oh, the blasted coward that he was.

"I knew you would say that," she grinned endearingly. "But I suppose you could _show_ me."

_to be continued..._

* * *

A/N #2: I guess all of you can see this coming already, didn't you? I've really got nothing else to comment about that, except that I'll leave it in your hands to judge. Also, lots and lots and lots of homage to the real show. LOTS OF THEM.

Plus, I'm sorry if the previous chapter seemed a little too rushed. I'll fix it when I've finished the whole fic, and revamp the whole thing again. Like...a redux. Yup.

And I'd like to point out that this is where the line between canon and fanon is blurred for me. I've fallen in too deep. HELP!


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: Hello everyone! This update is faster than I thought it would be. :D_

_Here's the deal, we've got three more chapters to go, folks. Three chapters, and that's it from me for this fic. We're so close to the end, now. Yup. _

* * *

Chapter 12

This was something he could fix.

Their first kiss had been awkward. Their second had its moments, but was ultimately horrendous.

Gabriel had never believed in superstitions before, but maybe it had its' basis. Third time may well be a lucky charm.

Those were the thoughts that ran through his mind as soon as he stepped out from a refreshing shower, only to be confronted with a vision of an angel. Claire was sitting at the edge of his bed, legs crossed and arms demurely folded, as she stared at him coolly. Her poise would have been a professional one, if not for her appearance -- she was wearing his dress shirt (which had become her favourite nightwear during her many overnight stays), and nothing much else.

"I've tucked Harold into his basket," she said, her gaze never leaving him. "I think he's already sound asleep."

"Why, thank you Claire. That's very...efficient. And thoughtful, too," he replied, as he gawkily dried his hair with the towel slung over his shoulder. The action caused his hair to stubbornly stick out in many different directions, before he clumsily attempted to smooth them down with his fingers. It was all he could do to prevent from making a fool out of himself. She was like Persephone to his Hades, and he was not sure if he could stop from ravishing her as he had atrociously done this morning.

After their long conversation on the rooftop, she had him stunned with a request; one which required no elocution on his part at all. Claire had said 'show me', whatever that meant.

_What did it mean?_

He had reacted by looking away in uncertainty, before gathering his wits and took her hand firmly in his, leading her back to his apartment. She had jumped straight into the shower to cleanse herself from all the blood, sweat and dirt amassed from all their rooftop jumping sessions, while he had to feed poor Harold.

After Claire was done, it was his turn for a shower.

Now, this.

He had shaved, she noticed; as she continued to watch him unabashedly, anticipating his next move. Daring him to saunter towards her with solid, self-assured steps, before he eventually faltered. They were merely inches apart. Gabriel loomed over her for one fragile moment, before the height deficit began to diminish. He knelt down to the ground so that they were considerably face-to-face, at the same height.

She watched him as he inspected the intricate patterns he never knew existed on the shirt she was wearing. She watched his eyes travel upwards, and suddenly she was unable to meet his scorching gaze. In an unexpected turn of events, she found herself as the one who was being watched, as she outstretched one arm to feel the soft, fuzzy towel hung around his neck.

Egyptian cotton.

There was still no skin-to-skin contact.

Tentatively, he took her hand in his, but it was she who was leading him to the places she wanted to explore. She reached up to stroke his cheek tenderly, her fingers cold against his damp skin. Her thumb grazed his bottom lip, before tracing downwards to the little dip on his chin. She tried to catch her breath when he slightly shuddered, inadvertently inhaling the scent of the soap he used – a disinfectant brand, no less; and the smell of fresh linen from the plaid shirt he was wearing.

And then, their lips met.

It was so unlike the rapacious nature of their second kiss. That kiss had brought out their most treacherous, uninhibited facades in the surge of illimitable powers. There was no need to rush for this one, though. They had all the time they need, they had forever. A series of light, butterfly kisses against each others' lips, before she coaxed him to open his mouth and let her taste the sweet-saccharine goodness of gentle Gabriel Gray – plus the minty freshness of toothpaste. It was slow and languorous, his fingers glided along her neckline before tugging delicately at the collar of her shirt.

When they pulled away from each other, her next onslaught was directed towards his chiselled jaw, pressing defiant kisses as he unconsciously tilted his head upwards to give her more access to his neck. She leaned further into him, as her kisses progressed northwards to his earlobe, nibbling at the sensitive flesh. His head came crashing down on her shoulder in surprise; his gasp lilted her back towards the bed, pulling him atop of her.

He knew earlobes were designed as extensions to keep his ears warm, or to help maintain balance. An attack from Claire's mouth and he already felt as if his ears were burning from a mystifying sensation, his balance completely dismantled.

With one knee wedged between her thighs, he supported his upper body with his arms, each planted firmly beside her head. He was too careful as not to pin her down completely, an inch of a gap was still left between their bodies. He was unsure if he should lower himself, if he was permitted to feel the entire length of her body aligned against his.

When her trembling hand reached up to undo one of his shirt buttons, he took it as a cue to copy the action. Fiddling timidly with her top button, he decided that this was where they should draw the line.

For now.

He leaned down to kiss her instead, murmuring her name against her lips as the last button of his shirt popped open. Her cold palms slid up his warm chest, skin against skin; her explorative fingers palpating his taut, hardened muscles – inevitably confirming that she wasn't just imagining things when they shared their first embrace.

"Claire," he warned when she tried to roll them over, "I, uh...assume this was not in your schedule either?"

With him now positioned right beneath her, he felt exposed, vulnerable and conquered. None of it bothered him in the least, oddly.

"No," she blushed, adding a deeper rosy-hue to her already flushed cheeks. "But I constantly think about it enough, just for me to make an exception."

A strange feeling washed over him when she said that, because to his comprehension, it meant that she had been deliberating this as much as he had. "Claire," he whispered, holding her wrist and pinned it down so that her palm was right above where his heart would lie, "I think we should stop. I, uh...I'm not...sure..."

Her eyelids lowered; thoughtful, before she nodded. Her eyes were moist, glistening from an unexplainable sense of overpowering emotion. "Oh Gabriel, did I do this?" she sniffed, upon feeling the thrills of his rapidly beating heart beneath her hand. He mouthed a hushed 'yes'.

Claire waited for Gabriel's heart rate to decline; her palm lingered on his chest. During the process, she wondered how such an effortless act could be so intimately touching. She pulled her hand away, causing Gabriel to hiss at the sudden lack of warmth – only to be replaced by the shell of her ear, pressed against his chest as she continued to listen to his heartbeat. From this vantage point, Gabriel had the chance to admire the magnificent tumble of Claire's hair as it cascaded upon his body, tickling his skin.

"Claire?" he inquired softly, after a minute of tranquil stillness. Her ear was still pressed onto his chest, and she hadn't moved a muscle since. All he could hear was her laboured breathing, one that could only indicate that she was drifting into a deep sleep. Gently, he rose up in utmost care to not rouse her, sliding away for just one second to switch the bedside lamp off. He managed to make out her silhouette in the darkness, before wrapping his arms around her, like a protective bubble.

He pulled the covers over them, before shutting his eyes in an attempt to fall asleep.

Gabriel failed miserably. It took him a while before his eyes adjusted to the blinding darkness, blinked at the ceiling several times, before staring back at Claire and shrugged for no one to see.

Leaning over to Claire's other ear, he whispered three words he had never said out loud to anyone.

--

_November_

"I have bad news and good news," Peter told Gabriel through the phone.

"Uh-uh," Gabriel frowned, "Would you start with the bad news, please?"

"Alright, um," Peter began, "Isaac Mendez has been dead for a few years now. Apparently he committed suicide after the murder of his girlfriend. I don't know what his real ability was, but I suspect he's a precog who could paint the future," he explained. Now, here's the good part. There was this comic he drew, titled 9th Wonders. The protagonist of the series lives in Tokyo, Japan and has the power to control time-space continuum. His name is—,"

"Hiro Nakamura," Gabriel cut Peter off, eyes widened in shock. "His name was in the list," he blanched.

"Exactly. But here's where it gets confusing."

Gabriel harrumphed softly. "How so?"

"If Isaac really could paint the future, then his comic book would not make sense," Peter presumed. "In the comic book, Hiro Nakamura was supposed to save a cheerleader in order to save the world."

"Save the cheerleader from what?" Gabriel rubbed the ridges of his brows. He was almost afraid to hear the answer.

"A megalomaniacal, head-cutting, brain removing superpowered villain."

Cold sweat began to trickle down Gabriel's forehead. It could not be a coincidence that he had talked to Claire about the possibility of this happening. Of an evil version of him. "The cheerleader is Claire," he pointed out. "The villain is me," he conjectured astringently. "Am I correct to infer this from your information?"

"The cheerleader is Claire, from the looks of things," Peter agreed; nodding although he knew Gabriel could not see him. "But," he countered unflappably, "the villain couldn't be you. If you follow the timeline of events in the comic book, you would have died by now, killed by our samurai-sword-wielding Japanese hero."

Silence hovered over them before Gabriel unassumingly asked, "What are you trying to imply?"

Peter knew Gabriel was going to be worried. Claire had told him everything about her conversation with Gabriel, or at least the bulk of it. It was his prerogative to make Gabriel believe in himself, to save him from his self-destructing doubts. "Judging from when the comic book storyline started, it should have begun when Claire was still in high school. Further in the series, Hiro's father died. Hiro inherited his father's company as a result."

"How do these two events correlate with each other?"

"I searched the Internet and found this news. A man named Hiro Nakamura was recently made the CEO of a Tokyo-based company, Yamagato Industries, which happened after the death of his father, Kaito Nakamura."

Gabriel gripped his phone tighter as he began to consider it through."Claire is no longer a cheerleader. She's already safe in Harvard, but nothing has happened so far. The events that should have occurred before Hiro Nakamura became Yamagato Industries' CEO did not take place," he sighed apprehensively. "Peter, it is vital for me to read the comic books in order to comprehend the current state of affairs. And then we have to find Nakamura-san."

"Nakamura..._san?_"

"I thought it would be fitting to employ that honorific."

"Uh, right." Peter should really not smile, not when the situation was as bleak as this. Really, he shouldn't. "I concur," he half-smiled, "You do have to read the comic books to see for yourself. And there's also another thing."

Gabriel was still biting his nails, fretful from the thoughts of reading about a possible life he could have lived; a life of a heartless killer – but his focus on Peter's last words had not declined. "Hmm. Did you find Brian Davis?"

"Yeah. Found him. He was scared, but he pulled himself together when he saw what I can do. He can move things telekinetically."

"Interesting," Gabriel nodded, although a little voice in his head was chanting, 'Put down the phone, go get 9th Wonders now!' like some kind of a spine-chilling mantra. A shudder did run down his spine, which made him flinch. Gabriel's lack of words to express his thoughts wasn't something that Peter noticed, though. He was more preoccupied with another unrelated matter altogether. "I uh, absorbed his power by accident."

"That is to be expected...is it not?" Gabriel replied quizzically.

"Yes, well," Peter started, unsure how to express his idea. In reality, even he was surprised that he could come up with it. "You could...you know, get it from me, if you want."

Gabriel blinked. "Oh. Thank you for the offer, Peter. That is very generous of you. I will...contemplate the pros and cons of this...proposal."

The moment Gabriel worded his reply, Peter knew that his 'offer' had come out wrong through his mouth. Not that he could help it, though. With Gabriel around, it was quite reasonable to trade abilities with each other. Like the Barter system.

'Uh-oh,' he cringed. That did come out wrong. Barter system? Really?

At least he hadn't said that bit out loud.

--

"I look hideous."

"I never knew that you have a narcissistic streak in you..?"

There was a scatter of comic books on Gabriel's living room floor, with Gabriel himself sitting at one corner, slouched, reading an issue with full intent. Claire stood over him, wondering what could have triggered his sudden interest in this particular title."9th Wonders?"

She picked up a random issue and flipped through it, before Gabriel held up the one he was reading and pointed to a page. "Please, with all honesty. Do I really look like this?"

She gave him a perplexed sideway glance. "What's this?"

"A comic book panel with me in it," he replied fervently, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Gabriel..."

"Does he look like me?" Somehow, his voice was dripping with desperation. She had never heard him use that tone before. He was...worried. Scared.

Defeated, Claire studied the image that was displayed before her. A square-jawed, heavily stubbled man dressed in black with a sword stabbed right through him. "No, not really," she shook her head. "But I can see what you are getting at. Why? Is this supposed to be you?" She could see some similarities, but it was all limited to the stubble if Gabriel were to decide not to shave his Saturday 5 o'clock shadow. There was obvious menace deliberately shaded in the comic book character's eyes, something she could not relate to Gabriel at all. If he had not told her, she would not have known that it was him.

He raised both of his knees and hugged them, pressing his nose on his knuckles. "Do you believe in alternate realities?" he meekly asked, his voice muffled. He wasn't even looking at her; his gaze was fixed on a flying man on the cover of one of the comic books. Her heart skipped a beat when she figured out who it was meant to represent. Nathan Petrelli. Her father.

For some reason she could see where this was all going to lead to, but she inquired anyway. "Why are you spewing sci-fi terms at me?"

"Because I think we are living in one."

_That confirmed...something. _

"I think I was meant to come after you."

_But not that._

"We already talked about this," Claire scooted closer to him, holding one of his hands in hers, lifting his chin up with another; forcing him to look at her.

"But not after I have seen this," he tapped the page with two fingers. "It's a series of comic books illustrated and written by a New York artist; Isaac Mendez. Regrettably, he is no longer alive and these are all posthumous issues," he explained. "Everything he painted had come true. Except for these. They do not make sense, because they were supposed to happen, but they did not." There was a crack in his voice, the sound of fear and incredulity all rolled into one.

Claire held one of his propped up knees and rested her chin on it, while her fingers travelled to the 9th Wonders issue which had a Nathan lookalike on the cover. She flipped it open and saw a name. "Hiro Nakamura?"

"Do you recognise the name?" Gabriel inquired. He was hiding his face behind his knees; all she could see clearly was one raised eyebrow.

"He's from the list."

Gabriel nodded briskly. "According to Peter and the ever resourceful Internet, Hiro Nakamura is the now the CEO of Yamagato Industries, inheriting it after his father's death."

"Kaito Nakamura," Claire's gaze flickered straight to Gabriel's. Inexorably, he raised his head up.

"How do you know that name?"

"Kaito is a friend of my grandma's."

He sent her a dubious gaze. "How did Peter not know this?"

Claire shrugged and pouted her lips slightly. "I snoop around the house a lot. Also, Nathan let it slip one time."

A slight grin appeared on his lips, a way of telling her that he was euphorically proud of her. "Hiro Nakamura, as told by Isaac Mendez, is a master of time-space continuum. A time traveller. He could have gone back in time and changed the past. Changed our past, thus changing our futures. Remember what I said about what could have happened if I had stayed in New York? I think we have found a concrete answer to that question."

She remained unfazed. "This isn't you," she traced the lines that were drawn to resemble the supposed antagonist of 9th Wonders. "Not even one semblance."

"This is _me_," the grin faded, only to be replaced by a grim glare directed at the page. "Or who I should have been, at least. I was stabbed with a samurai sword. A very fascinating way to die, if I am allowed to observe," he said jokingly, but she knew better. He was drop dead serious.

"Are you insinuating that this guy, Hiro, went back to the past in order to prevent this whole thing from happening?" she asked him cautiously.

He didn't answer.

"Gabriel..."

"I was supposed to be an evil misanthrope," he said distractedly before resuming his fetal-like position – he looked smaller and more scared with each passing minute.

"But you're not," she reiterated. "That's what's important. Do you want to be this...man in this comic book?"

Gabriel appeared to consider the inquiry with deep deliberation, before concluding it with a perturbed sigh. "When I was a kid ... I used to wish some stranger would come and tell me my family wasn't really my family. They weren't bad people, they were just ... insignificant. And I wanted to be different. Special. I wanted to change. A new name, a new life. The watchmaker's son," he clicked his tongue, "... became a watchmaker. It is so futile. And I wanted to be ... important."

She fell reticent. This was not something she could hear, especially not from him.

"My wish came true. My family is not mine, and I am different," he spoke in susurration -- yet it deafened her; this sudden revolting noise that was pounding against her ears. However, his ominous voice was the only substance that could nourish her senses at the moment.

"But Claire," he growled after an undefined passage of time, "there is nothing I want more in the world, than to be myself as I am right now. With _you_. But I have to ensure that I do not stray. Thus the irrepressible need to find Hiro Nakamura, in order for me to--,"

"Understand," she finished the sentence for him and smiled. "I think I can help you with that."

Immediately after she had said that, he lowered his knees and sat up straight. He stared at her as if she was a divine goddess, his guardian angel -- instigating him to bow in her grace. He had seen the same twinkle in her eyes before, the same determination; so much so that he felt like an idiot for doubting her, even for just a minute.

He felt like an idiot for the disillusionment he had casted upon himself.

"Damn it Claire," was all he managed to say before claiming her mouth in one swift motion, half-expecting to be pushed away and hexed by her witchy-green glare. His fears almost came true when he felt her grab the collar of his shirt, yet this time he was the one up for a surprise. Instead of pushing him away, she pulled him towards her; an array of emotions all concentrated in one, single kiss.

He felt like an idiot for all of his childish wishes, because –

"Gabriel," she breathed into him.

In this life, in this time, he could not possibly wish to be anyone else but himself.

--

"Nathan's gonna host a Christmas Ball this year."

"A ball. As in a dancing, Cinderella-type ball," he said sceptically. It should have been phrased as a question, but he opted not to make it sound like one.

"Yes. And you're invited," Claire answered anyway.

A sudden nauseous feeling began to wash over him, indicating that his sympathetic nervous system was kicking into full motion. "I am not coming," he supplied laconically.

"If you want to meet Hiro Nakamura, then you've got to come," she blackmailed him with that conspiratorial gaze he knew so well. "I've asked Nathan to invite him. A Petrelli invitation is not something anyone could decline, especially when one is the newly appointed CEO of Yamagato Industries," she smirked. He was about to surrender before insisting, "But I do not dance," with a hopeful glint in his eyes.

"I'll teach you!" she gleefully clapped her hands together, her brain neurons endlessly firing off electrical signals in order to ruminate a perfect plan – one that may end up putting him in the middle of a dance floor. He cringed.

"Claire," he pleaded for exemption with an undulating tone, shutting his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. She knew it would be hard for him to waltz through a high-standing social gathering, which required him to do more than just standing at one deserted corner while stuffing himself with a whole platter of inedible 'high-society' food, pretending that he was invisible for the rest of the evening.

"Gabriel," her brows puckered, shooting him down with a look that could only mean 'Do it'.

He took a peek at Claire with one eye closed, inadvertently raising one brow up before rolling his eyes. "I believe this may be the only way," he picked nervously on his nails, before making a full-on puppy-dog face. "Thank you," he said, "for helping me."

"No," she had grinned back. "Thank _you._ So," she purred, "When do we start practicing?"

The innuendo flew right above his head.

"Now?" he submitted innocently.

_to be continued..._

* * *

A/N#2: Thanks to jremme who came up with the 'dance' idea. Sorry I couldn't make it sound better in the fic, but I promise you there'll be more on that in the next chapter.

There's a loooong quote somewhere in the chapter that was taken directly from the show. Let's see if anyone of you could point it out. :p

This is also where I try to build in some suspense (but I think that effort was thwarted by the amount of fluff coated around it). Plus, I love 9th Wonders. The thought of mentioning it (and making it an important plot mover) is too irresistible. The question is...if this is really an alternate universe, why do the comics still depict the events of season 1?

Will Hiro have the answers?

(Damn I sound so cheesy).

Thanks for reading, reviewing, favoriting, adding to alert...supporting this fic. You guys rock my world. I hope you won't jump the shark just yet. :)


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N: Hello, folks! Here's the latest installment of the fic. You'll finally meet Elle in this one, albeit in a way you'd not think of. I hope it won't be anti-climactic or anything, I just thought it'd fit more with Gabriel's character before he met Claire. Dunno what I'm talking about? Well, read to find out!  
_

_This is officially the longest chapter of the fic. Yup. _

* * *

Chapter 13

Claire's idea of helping Gabriel seek for Hiro Nakamura finally materialized a month later, at the annual Petrelli Christmas Charity Ball.

Which perfectly explained his current situation as he stood in front of the long mirror in the Petrelli mansion's guest room, tying and retying his tie -- the Armani silk tie Claire got him from Paris -- for the umpteenth time. It was as if she already saw this coming, that he would wear it for her, eventually. Not that it looked bad on him, far from it. He could almost hear Claire's voice in his head – "You look most dashing," she would say. Even if he felt as stuffy as a marching penguin on Animal Planet.

Three knocks on his door pulled him back from the North Pole back to Manhattan. He opened the door and saw Claire as he had never seen her before, in a magnificent strawberry-red satin dress, her hair pulled back into a formal, honey-hued chignon. A bold sugar-candy shade of carmine touched her lips, matching the tint of her dress. She was in every way a sylph, a siren that was meant to cause myocardial infarction among three quarters of Upper West Side's male population.

She looked delicious in every sense.

"You look--,"

"Most dashing with my new tie?" he proffered.

"That, and something else. You look handsome. Sorry for the lack of a better adjective, but plainly that's what you are." Now she was blushing, and her blush could never go wrong. He never could have imagined that red would suit her so well.

"You are beautiful," his head tilted, before adding an afterthought; "And your dress, too."

"You flatter me too much," she tried to avoid his unnerving gaze, by pretending to brush undetectable lint from his suit. "Are you ready?"

Gabriel ran one insouciant finger along her naked shoulder blade, sliding down her arm and ended at the tip of her middle finger, before clasping her hand in his. "Not really. I am afraid I might step on your feet and cause not just pain but utter humiliation. Not just to you but also your entire family."

She fixed his tie one last time before replying, "You worry too much. We've already practiced," with a cheerful note in her tone. "Don't be anxious. You'll be fine. We'll be fine."

He fidgeted with his cufflinks, sliding his thumb over the smooth onyx, as he reminisced over their horrific private dance rehearsals since the last couple of weeks. Ever since he was informed that he was cordially invited to her family's Christmas Charity Ball, Claire had been harassing him into learning how to 'swing' the foxtrot. All the repetitions of 'slow, slow, quick-quick slow, slow' had caused his head to spin instead of his feet. At least Claire had been a patient teacher. By last week, his dancing skills were deemed passable at best, because he was obscenely horrific at leading.

"I'm hardly anxious, Claire," he looked at her judgingly. Her fiery red lips curved into an uncontainable smile. "You could already pass for a Petrelli brother, you know?" she confessed, because the similarity was uncanny. Dark hair, similarly dark eyes. Complete with Nathan's intensity and Peter's affability.

"About that," he gulped, "I have just spoken to Peter. He made a passing comment about the likelihood of him becoming my future uncle." Gabriel coughed. "_In-law_," he added.

Claire could have guffawed, either at Peter's tactless directness or Gabriel's awkward embarrassment – she had yet to decide on which one. "He said that?"

"Yes."

"Ohh," she chuckled in half-embarrassment. "What would your opinion be on that?"

"It is...plausible..." he trailed off, before giving her the intriguing hints of a shrewd smile.

He wasn't even surprised when she quickly got up to her tiptoes and pecked him on the lips.

He could get used to this.

--

They have barely landed at the bottom of the stairs, before Gabriel grasped Claire's gloved hands and pulled her into the reading room, where several guests eyed them most enquiringly.

"What is she doing here?" Gabriel peeked at the more crowded area outside, his eyes shifting uneasily.

Claire's head peeked out to see what Gabriel was looking at, but couldn't make out who he was referring to. "Who?"

"Elle," he whispered scratchily.

"Elle? Where?" she nearly shrieked, before he placed one panicky finger on his lips, and pointed to a petite blonde woman in a blue chiffon dress three meters away from them.

"That's Elle?" she managed to blurt out, before Peter appeared from nowhere and tapped on both of their shoulders, causing them to jump in fright simultaneously. "Why are you two hiding in a corner?"

"Do you know who that is?" Claire asked Peter, who was standing far too casually to be seen with two skulking figures hiding in the reading room.

"Yeah, that's Elle Bishop. She's Bob Bishop's daughter. He's one of Angela's business partners," he explained. "Not to mention that she used to have the hots for me," he chuckled wryly.

Gabriel looked up at Peter with celerity, a stupefied expression imprinted on his face. How smaller could the world be? He shared the same look with Claire a split second later, causing her to shake her head contemptuously at Peter. "Too much information, Peter," she whispered frowningly.

Peter kept his ease, a half-full glass of champagne still sophisticatedly held in his hand. "Why, do you know her?" he asked Claire, although his eyes were still fixed on the girl in electric blue.

She shook her head. "Na-ah. But Gabriel knew her."

"Then why are you two hiding?" Peter inquired in amusement, gulping the rest of his champagne and settled it on a platter held by a waiter who opportunely walked right past them. "Why don't you meet her and say hi?"

Gabriel straightened himself and looked directly into Peter's eyes, indicating that the information he was about to impart was direly serious. "We did not part on respectable terms, Elle and I," he cleared his throat. Claire's ears perked up now, because although she had asked him what Elle did, Gabriel had not enlightened her of the whole tale. That episode had been long forgotten, until now.

She was more than curious, now.

If she hadn't known better, she would say that she was jealous.

She was not jealous. _Clearly._

"I knew her from my Columbia days. I was writing a research paper and she pretended to help me. Two weeks before it was due, she plagiarized it and claimed that she wrote it. We had a feud. The case was brought to the dean and she dropped out the next term."

"Ah. So that's why she left Columbia and went to NYU instead," Peter scoffed. "It got everyone talking."

Claire was not impressed. "That was the big secret about Elle??"

Gabriel spun to face her, in order to further justify himself. "She manipulated me into thinking that she was a nice young lady who was interested in what I was working on. How would you react if someone plagiarized something you worked on for a year and a half and took all the credit? I threw a tantrum."

She tried to imagine an abstemious, workaholic college student Gabriel -- thick glasses and slicked hair included, barging into the dean's office to disgorge his evidence against Elle. The images strewn on the floors of her mind told a different story – one where an unrestrained, dark angel Gabriel could have sliced off the top of Elle's head, before showering her mutilated corpse with petrol and cremated the body.

Which couldn't have been the case because Elle was still well and alive.

Maybe Claire was subconsciously becoming morbid. Taxidermy was irrelevant at this point.

"Well, she could be a tad psychotic. But she could be a nice girl if she wants to. Poor girl's dad has been pushing her around; I guess she wanted some glory of her own," Peter shrugged, hands now snuck in his pockets as he continued to glance furtively at Elle.

Awakened from her gruesome reverie, Claire clutched Gabriel's right hand in hers and rested her forehead on his arm, staring down at the lush carpet while she spoke. "She's just like me. The dad part, I mean."

"I can relate to that, too. You have met my mother, hence, you must understand. But stealing somebody else's work is utterly unforgivable," Gabriel gently squeezed her hand, his voice still tinted with a raspy quality.

"But you did forgive her," she whispered listlessly.

"I did," he idly nodded.

Peter watched this interaction with his mouth slightly gaped, because Claire had never acted like this with Ian; as if Claire was an Ice Queen who was slowly melting away into a puddle. If anything, it was Ian who would frequently act this way with her. "You guys are creeping me out," he said incredulously. "But not in a bad way."

Claire ignored him. "How come I've never heard of an Elle Bishop before?"

"Because she becomes relatively discreet after leaving college. Now she works for her father. Doing what, I don't exactly know," Peter replied, before noticing that Elle was now out of their sight.

"I doubt that she will be able to recognize me sans glasses. As long as no one mentions my name in front of her, we will be fine," Gabriel presumed, as they re-entered the main lounge guardedly.

"Why don't we just get back upstairs?" Claire's eyes twinkled when they stopped by the grand staircase. Peter continued to walk past them with a sneaky smile, before Gabriel nudged Claire inquisitively. "I thought we are waiting for Hiro Nakamura to arrive."

"Peter's on the lookout," she picked a filled champagne glass and began to head upstairs. Gabriel followed after her, holding her hand as she ascended the flight of stairs, all while intently watching her Jimmy Choos. "Careful," he murmured when she almost slipped; some of the champagne spilled and wet her gloved hand.

"Don't worry. I'm invincible, remember?" she winked. "I'll be fine," she smiled, before sipping a gulp of the champagne. She did not let go of his hand, however, as she pulled him past a few doors down the darkened East Wing corridor, before they finally stopped in front of one.

"This is your room?" he inquired, as she opened the door and switched on the light.

"Yup," she nodded, removing her champagne-soaked glove and tossed it on her table.

Gabriel stood in the middle of the room, absolutely feeling out of place. Everything was sweet and polished and dainty, and he was all coarse and calloused and rough. "It is very...pink," were the first words he succeeded to say.

"I don't like it that much, to be honest," she sat on her bed, trying to enjoy the last sips of her champagne. "Dreary drapes and lilac-coloured wardrobes, cute little soft toys and throw pillows on the bed...you can tell that this room hasn't changed much since I first came to live here."

He prowled around the room, examining ornaments that might be of interest to him. "It does hold some kind of nostalgia, does it not?" he asked, but the question was met by taciturnity. His attention soon switched to a shelf of trophies and awards, which Claire had deservedly won throughout her school years. "Cheerleading. Cheerleading. Science quiz. Swimming," he muttered as he read the trophy labels, "Cheerleading. Debate team. Debate team..._Scrabble_?"

Claire nearly choked on her champagne. "Sorry?"

"You won a Scrabble tournament in 4th grade. And..." he pushed one trophy aside to look at a dustier one hidden behind it, "...Highest Game. I am impressed," he gazed back at her, grinning from ear to ear.

She knew that look -- the 'Gabriel-has-a-brilliant-but-extremely-nerdy-plan' look.

"Do you still have a Scrabble board?" he asked.

--

When Claire was young, dolls with long golden tresses and oceanic blue eyes were her favourite toys; having tea parties with inedible butter cookies and jam tarts made of plastic. Fluffy teddy bears and patched up ragdolls, dainty dresses and fake jewellery made from rhinestones.

One day, she had woken up and thought she'd like to do something different.

It became her first and only descent into nerdvana.

Until Gabriel.

--

"Show off!" she screeched when her scrabble board levitated in the air, before being gently laid open on the floor. Gabriel's stretched out second and middle fingers curled back immediately. "Well, you have to admit that it is fascinating," he protested a tad touchily.

She broke into an edgy chortle. "It is fascinating," she said, albeit with a hint of concern in her voice. Over the past month, Gabriel and Mohinder had been tracking down people with abilities, as did Peter. Maya Herrera, the woman she met at lunch with Mohinder, had turned out to be one of them. Her deadly, poison-emitting ability would have accidentally killed Mohinder, had Gabriel not turned up at the lab and managed to calm her down. The near-fatal episode had caused Claire to reconsider her initial optimism of having a special ability; much less lots of them -- as Peter and Gabriel were given the privilege to acquire. Especially when the abilities were dangerous; lethal. Not just to one self but to others.

Not many were lucky to be able to heal like she could.

Mohinder had linked adrenaline to the manifestation of special abilities among evolved humans, after the Maya incident. Maya, Gabriel and herself had stoutly opposed his idea of manipulating this knowledge, in order to create a formula that would 'bestow' special abilities to normal people.

It could only end in disaster, Claire was sure of it.

And then there was the day she had brought Gabriel to meet Angela and Nathan. That had been the worst 'meet the parents' meeting ever. Throughout the discourse, Angela had studied Gabriel in silent trepidation, while Nathan grilled him with seemingly endless waves of questions upon questions. It had started with the basics – name, family, job, salary, how long had they been friends. Gabriel had replied coherently without even cowering.

Then Peter had mentioned something about acquiring abilities, and hell was immediately broken loose.

It took a while for Nathan to finally realize that Gabriel was just like his kid brother. Angela needed to be thoroughly convinced that Gabriel was harmless. Once she had, the whole ordeal had transformed into an 'emotional convergence of a mutant family'.

Peter's words. Not hers.

Nathan had embraced Gabriel first -- as if he would hug a brother, before pulling Peter into a three-way-man-huddle. Angela had merely pursed her lips and looked at Claire expectantly, before gently squeezing her hand. The matron of the Petrelli family had graciously smiled, before expressing her less-than-conventional approval. "I've already seen it, but I can't believe it. Not until today," she had said. "Gabriel is a good man, Claire. Now I want you to keep him that way."

Those had been Angela's words two weeks ago. Somehow she felt that her grandmother knew more about Gabriel than Claire ever had.

"Claire, I believe it is your turn now," Gabriel mumbled, his chin resting on a propped elbow. He had spelled 'hinge' on the board. She rubbed her cheek. "Oh, I'm so gonna lose," she muttered, staring at her miserable rack of alphabets. "We do not know how the game will progress, Claire. Drawing such a pessimistic conclusion will not determine your fate. Your chance of winning is similar to mine at this point."

She smiled at his wordy attempt to keep her hopes up. Moving her tiles around for several times, Claire finally decided on 'grape', using Gabriel's 'g' in 'hinge'.

"I have a question," she spoke offhandedly. "How many abilities do you have now?"

Gabriel's newly picked tiles hovered in the air as he contemplated the enquiry. His left hand's fingers moved gracefully as he placed the tiles on his rack, using his right hand to count. "Um. Yours. Flying. Precognition. Telekinesis. Peter and I decided to split between lie detection and mind reading; so I acquired the former from Sue Landers," he said. "Thus, five," he answered thoughtfully.

"Sue Landers, her name was in the list too, right? She was the lady you met on her birthday," she remembered. "You did tell me about accidentally crashing into her office birthday party."

"An experience worth repeating," he said cheekily. "Initially she was wary of my intentions, but she ultimately found me trustworthy. The birthday cake was especially favourable in taste, but I digress," he lifted a finger. "Peter acquired the mindreading from Detective Matt Parkman, who incidentally dealt with your grandmother's socks-theft case, I believe."

"Lie-detection, mindreading. I don't think there's any secret I could keep from you guys anymore," she remarked solemnly. "When somebody lies, is it...tingly?"

"It does tingle," Gabriel admitted, before raising his brows sceptically. "There's no reason for you to lie to me, is there, Claire?"

"No," she sighed, "except maybe the times when I want to throw a surprise birthday party for you, but you'll ask me too many questions, and you'll know when I'm lying, so the plan will be laid to waste. _Phew_," she dramatically wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, drawing an instant snort from him. "You will be glad to know that you were telling the truth," he chuckled deeply. Claire merely watched as Gabriel laid down only two tiles from his rack – a 'y' and an 'x', placing them beside the 'p' in 'grape'. "Pyx?"

"Pyx," his eyes gleamed, "is the container used to keep wafers for the Holy Communion."

"Oh," she smiled winsomely. "Nice," she commented, rubbing the back of her neck. "I'm sorry Noah couldn't be here. I really want you to meet him. And Mr. Muggles. You'll love Mr. Muggles," she said, before forming a 'yacht' from Gabriel's 'y'. He broke into an uncontainable smile when she said 'Mr. Muggles', his gaze still concentrated at the board. It reminded him of Harold, who should be comfortable enough with the Slomans right now. He wondered what Harold would think if he could see him now.

She loved this sight of him – relaxed, but still attentive. Only Gabriel would be willing to escape the airlessness of the glamorous world below, to be with her just because. Only Gabriel would be able to make her sit down on her bedroom floor in a Dior dress and play Scrabble.

His suit had long been discarded on the floor next to him, his tie slightly loosened. She fought the urge to touch the teasingly obscured flesh at the collar of his shirt; instead she used the time to relive her experiences with this enigmatic man -- one who could seem so vulnerable yet strong, intimidating yet tender, dangerous yet delightful. Such a creature should not be allowed to prowl on the face of the Earth, because she would be drawn to him whether she wanted to or not.

Having him now in front of her -- a man as equally indestructible as she was, as if God was giving her a sign – that Gabriel Gray was made for her and she was made for him. He who appeared to have come from so different a world, yet the similarities they shared had to be more than just happenstance. They would survive the test of time. But to do that, they had to endure this challenge first – the challenge of trust.

If the alternate reality had existed, how would he treat her? How would she regard him? Would he eventually turn into the monster he feared he'd become? Would she fear him? She was deeply grateful that it was Peter who could read minds instead of Gabriel, because the thoughts in her mind right now were less than pretty.

Deep in her heart, she was infinitely certain that she would have loved him even if he had stayed a geek. She would have loved him even if he was a mere normal guy who hadn't exhibited any abilities. She would have loved him regardless of the situation, if only she was given a chance. She had been petrified, unconfident of her own feelings. It couldn't have been any clearer now, especially when _the_ chance was laid wide open in front of her.

She feared there might not be much time left.

'Gabriel is a good man. Keep him that way,' Angela had said. A good man, who had told Claire he loved her. That much she had heard, on that day their abilities start to emerge. That much she had known, on that night they first kissed. He might have thought that she had been sleeping, but she had not dreamed it.

Gabriel had said 'I love you,' and she had listened to every distinct syllable he had pronounced, as if it would save her life.

She was wrong -- it would save his.

And now, she knew what she had to do.

"Gabriel," her breath whooshed as his name touched the tip of her tongue, causing his attention to snap from his tile rack, straight to the unreadable look on her face. The game was forgotten, and she was no longer worried about losing. She already won his heart. Now it was her turn to let him know that he had won hers.

"Yes, Claire?" he asked, his eyes calm and a little...poignant.

The sudden creaking of her door caused both of them to turn their heads to the source of the sound. Peter stepped into the room, both hands raised in the air. "Sorry. I did knock," he began to say, before fixing his bewildered gaze upon the Scrabble board. "Claire, Nathan's looking for you. Gabriel, Hiro Nakamura's here."

Claire watched blood drain from Gabriel's face. Now she knew why Gabriel and Peter had absorbed the lie-detection and mindreading abilities. It was for this.

The moment of truth.

"What are you going to do now?" her eyes flickered between Peter who was standing by her door in a seemingly heroic pose, and Gabriel who was still sitting; saturnine, his eyes narrowed – calculative, cunning, crafty. He finally looked back at Peter, who nodded as if he knew what was playing in his mind. "We're just gonna talk to him, ask him a few questions about time-space continuum," Peter said nonchalantly, as Gabriel rose to his feet.

"We shall resume the game when I return, alright?" Gabriel circumspectly smiled as he helped Claire up. As soon as she was hoisted back on her feet, she drew him in for a lingering embrace. Breathing slowly and deeply, he placed a kiss on top of her head. She tried to stand on her tiptoes but her stilettos got in the way, so Gabriel decided to tilt his head and bend his knees to reach her. Closing her eyes, she took this chance to kiss his cheek gingerly, before whispering a guttural "Gabriel," in his ear.

Peter must have heard what she had wanted to say in her mind, because he was no longer waiting for them by the door – he went further down the corridor, to not interfere with this intricate moment of privacy.

"I hate you."

Gabriel instantly shuddered from the tingly buzz. Claire lied.

She didn't hate him.

_If that was the case, then..._

Gabriel exited Claire's room feeling _loved_.

--

Angela Petrelli stood alone by her bedroom window, enjoying the blipping neon lights as they wavered across her face, the colours of Christmas reflected off the frosty glass.

"Hello, Angela," a baritone voice addressed her from the darkness. The register was almost malicious, but not quite as spiteful as she last remembered. She was not shocked, she did not flinch. Not in the slightest. Angela even managed a subtle smile, one too delicate to be detected by anyone but herself.

"I knew you were coming," she said coolly, turning her head to face this faceless intruder. The man stepped out from the shadows, showing himself for the first time. Angela's stance became rigid, cautious. Her eyes widened, her heart rate quickened. Nonetheless, her equanimity was still fixed in place. Unyielding.

"I guess congratulations are in order. You've done well," he remarked, crossing his arms as he tipped his head conceitedly.

Angela scoffed. "I've done nothing. I take it that you are the one who wants to be congratulated."

The haughty figure pulled his head back in amusement, mocking Angela's acerbic rejoinder. "Oh," he shook his head. "No, not congratulations. A simple thanks would do, since I cleaned up all your mess. I went back in time to save the world. To save you and your family. To save Claire," he professed gruffly. "To save myself," he rubbed his forehead, his dark eyes as mysterious as the desolateness of space. "It was something that no one was willing to do. So in the end I did it. No Coyote Sands, no Primatech, no Pinehearst. The only thing I couldn't stop was Isaac Mendez's comic books...but none of the apocalyptic images will happen now, anyway."

"You went all the way back to 1961?" Angela asked in disbelief. All cold and impassive demeanour gone, the last veneers of composure and poise were shattered as she took one step away from her window, channelling her rage towards the taunting man. "Do you know what you have done? Do you kno--,"

It happened so fast that Angela couldn't even see him lift a finger. The next thing she knew, her mouth was already zipped tight, her jaw locked so she could no longer speak. "Please, Angela," he pleaded petulantly, "Don't start preaching about the butterfly effect. I understand it better than you do. Step on a butterfly now and millions will die years later?" he snorted scornfully, before circling her as if a predator would toy with his prey. "You just have to step on the right butterflies, that's all. And now everything's falling into place. Nathan's en route to become President. Peter's happy. Claire's safe. It's all gonna be worth it in the end."

Angela stared at him as if she would spit fire; although she knew what he said was true -- he had stepped on the right butterflies. As tangential as the consequences had been, he had done far a better job of trying to save the world than anyone else. Although he was the last person she would ever trust to do so.

"Plus," he snapped his fingers, prompting Angela to jerk back in a start, "I knew that you ordered Noah Bennet to clear the Petrelli names off Chandra Suresh's list. It's funny how even after all I've done, he still ends up working for you. Guess there's a couple of things that will never change around here," he shrugged pessimistically. "You didn't think that Mohinder would come and see Gabriel, leading him straight to Claire and Peter, did you?"

It took her at least a minute to realize that she could move her jaw; her voice was finally sanctioned to speak in volumes. "Why are you doing all this? This is unlike you. What's in it for you?"

He looked away from her, staring at the blinking lights outside. Sorrow replaced anger in his fiery gaze as he swallowed his answer. "I've lived a life filled with disappointment. Then I became the most powerful man in the world, and I thought my life was complete. Well. Not quite," he chuckled sardonically, scratching his chin. "I still haven't found the answer to one question that has been obstinately bugging me."

He neared her. His strained expression was as naked as a newborn child, filtering the years of anguish and grief he had faced in the future. His eyes screamed loneliness, sparked with a tiny iota of hope.

"I didn't know how to make love stay...until now."

_to be continued..._

* * *

A/N#2: Sorry, no Hiro this chapter. But there's Elle, and um, Elle doesn't recognize Gabriel (which is understandable).

Also, did you see the twist coming?

(And I can't resist inserting the scrabble game in the middle of a formal event. Only Gabriel could pull that one off).

I'd like to know what you guys think! :)


	14. Chapter 14

_The second last chapter. I'm feeling sad, now. :(_

* * *

Chapter 14

"Peter Petrelli!!" the small, bespectacled Japanese man squeaked out from the distance, waving his hands excitedly. Peter shared a bewildered glance with Gabriel, who merely shrugged as they walked towards Hiro Nakamura.

"You know me?" Peter asked.

Hiro nodded, a huge grin planted on his face. "Yes! You're Nathan Petrelli's brother! _Frying_ man! He becomes President in the future!" Peter narrowed his eyes and looked at Gabriel for some...verification.

_He is telling the truth. _

Peter tilted his head in satisfaction. "Oh, really?" he smiled at the shorter man.

"Yes! And you have power too! You have many power!" Hiro beamed. His voice may have been a little tad too loud, instigating curious glances from other guests. He was fixated solely on Peter and failed to acknowledge Gabriel's presence beside the empath. It was not until he opened his mouth to speak that Hiro finally looked at him. "I take it you have travelled through time, into the future?"

Hiro's attention switched to Gabriel, who was giving the tiny man a most ravenous glare that could have splintered a soul in half. If Hiro had any inkling of recognizing him, he did not show it. In fact, he stared back in confusion, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose before breaking into a huge grin. "Yes! Do you have power too?"

"Do you not know who I am, Nakamura-san?"

"No, I don't," he blinked. "Should I?"

_He is telling the truth. _

Peter nodded grimly.

--

Hiro, Gabriel and Peter ended up discussing 9th Wonders in the Petrelli Mansion's study.

"Have you seen this comic book before, Hiro?" Peter held an issue of 9th Wonders directly in front of Hiro's nose.

"No. I read comic books but...I've never read this one," Hiro blinked to adjust his disrupted vision. "Hey, he looks like me!"

"It _is_ you," Peter said serenely.

Gabriel gauged Hiro's expression, before he chirped in with his own question. "May I know where Ando Masahashi is?" The question seemed to have a stirring effect on Hiro, who was brought back to reality in an instant. "He's in Japan. Wait. How do you know him?"

Pursing his lips in concentration, Gabriel used a finger to telekinetically slide another issue of 9th Wonders across the table and flipped it open to a dog-eared page. A panel illustrating two Japanese men talking in an office cubicle was at the bottom of the page, and one of them was a spitting image of Hiro.

"Sugoi!!" Hiro's mouth fell open, slightly pouting in awe. Gabriel gritted his teeth and bit his cheeks simultaneously, to prevent himself from smiling. Or laughing. Either way, he should not be tickled by Hiro's antics – principally since this seemingly harmless fellow was potentially liable for altering the course of his life.

Unaware of Gabriel's distress, Hiro leaned down to read a few pages off the comic book and professed, "This was how I discovered my power," when he reached a certain page. "This was my first time in New York," he commented at another, and glanced through a couple of pages more – up until the last page, where a man who looked like him stabbed a man who looked like Gabriel. Hiro made a confused face. "But...this never happened."

_He is not lying. He does not know anything._

"This sword," Hiro pointed. Gabriel's posture became ramrod straight before inching closer to Hiro. "Do you know it? Is it currently in your possession?"

"Yes. I mean. Ando keeps it in Japan. I inherited it from my late father. Who drew these?"

"A guy from around here," Peter replied remorsefully. "Isaac Mendez. He had the ability to paint the future."

"Wow! Can I meet him?" Hiro beamed, clearly excited by the prospect of meeting the artist who had immortalized his life in pages of a comic book, despite half of them were erroneous.

Peter had to tell him the grim truth. "He's dead," he said. "But you can travel through time and space. You could tell us what happens in the future."

"Can you be more specific? What would you like to know?" Hiro's glasses glinted in the dim light, reminding Gabriel of his old self. He immediately decided that Hiro could be a new friend, especially after Hiro's delivery of the 'specific' line.

"Is there anything in this comic book that will happen in the future?" Peter tried again.

"No," Hiro shook his head firmly. "Although..." he glanced at a random page, 'Save the cheerleader, save the world?' The cheerleader, is it Claire Bennet?"

Both Peter and Gabriel's attention snapped. "You know Claire?" they asked in unison, causing Hiro to jerk back and stared at them in surprise. "Uh, I saw her. In the future. Five years from now. I...spied on her. She had dark hair. She was...sad."

"Dark hair?" Peter piped in, which coincidentally chimed with Gabriel's "Sad?"

"Crying," Hiro explained to Gabriel, "For a man called..._Sylar_. And she doesn't have blonde hair like in the comic book."

Even in the poor lighting, Peter noticed Gabriel's sudden blanching. The convoluted thoughts in his head further established that this 'Sylar' may be strongly related to him. "Who's Sylar?" Peter asked, because Gabriel had totally blanked out and all he could hear was white noise.

"I don't know. I heard them talking but I did not catch how he looks like. He was probably about ...your height," Hiro squinted at Gabriel, in an attempt to approximate his height.

"Sylar," Gabriel winced uncomfortably. "It is a brand of a watch."

Peter and Hiro looked at him as if he was mad. "I used to be a watchmaker. I should know," Gabriel wryly explained, all while restructuring his thoughts. "Why did she cry for this...Sylar?"

"It was very odd. It seemed that she hates him, but she cried when he left. She cried, as if...she loved him!"

"Where did he go?" Peter asked demandingly. The tone of his voice might have come off a little too stern because it made Hiro flinch. "He said he wanted to save the world. Then he went out of the room...and then he disappeared. I don't know where he goes."

"Where is the location of the events you have just described?"

"Costa Verde. In California."

"Noah Bennet's house," Peter inhaled sharply.

Gabriel remained pokerfaced. "Could you specify exactly when did you make this particular excursion to the future?"

"About a month ago," Hiro answered thoughtfully, forehead furrowing. "Hmm, I think he sounds like you, too. Except that he doesn't speak like you."

Gabriel deadpanned, telekinetically slicing a stack of papers on the desk, just by flicking his forefinger. Peter caught an alarming thought in Gabriel's mind, causing him to tap the disturbed man's shoulder and squeezed Gabriel's fingers back into a fist. "Gabriel," he warned gravely, "don't."

_I'm supposed to be Sylar. I'm supposed to turn into a monster. This confirmed it, Peter._

"Doesn't mean that you have to be," Peter argued. "Not in this lifetime." Letting Peter's words sink in, Gabriel conceded and stood up to face the Japanese time traveller. Hiro blinked at Peter nervously, wondering what Gabriel was up to.

"I have nothing else to convey but gratitude," Gabriel bowed with courtesy and smiled contentedly. "Thank you, Hiro Nakamura. Now I understand what I must do."

--

"Sylar...?" Peter uttered enquiringly after Hiro left, leaving him alone in the study with Gabriel.

Gabriel buried his face in both of his palms, before knocking his forehead on the desk. Without a warning, he sat up and straightened his back in one swift movement, hitting the linoleum with both of his palms. A loud thwack filled the cruel silence.

"Please, Peter. I am not...Sylar," he shuddered. "My name is Gabriel Gray," he breathed deeply, in order to recollect the last pieces of his composure. "I have made a decision. I do not wish to know what I could have possibly done in the future, or the pathways that could have led me to become Sylar. This is something that I can control if I wish to. And I wish to control it, because I can."

"Is that why you didn't take Hiro's power?"

Gabriel didn't answer. Instead, he slid his tongue along his teeth and knit his brows, taking his time to formulate a cryptic reply. "Do not loathe me for a litany of things that I have not yet done," he whispered weakly; his anguish slowly wilting away. Do not think about the past. We may dream about the future sometimes, but," he paused briefly, "there is no harm of just...living in the present."

"Duly noted, Dr. Gabriel Gray," Peter smiled appreciatively.

"Thank you, Peter Petrelli. You are a good friend."

"No, thank _you_. I don't think we'd be friends if you had gone and steal people's brains. We'd be apocalyptic archenemies," Peter joked, hoping that Gabriel wouldn't take the dark humour seriously. "You know, we could be a great pair of interrogators, you and me. Mindreading, lie-detecting...we should do this more often."

"And pull off the good-cop-bad-cop routine?"

"Yeah, we could do that," Peter agreed.

The idea struck Gabriel as plausible, before he made a face. "I will have to be the bad cop, will I not?" Gabriel scowled, which was met by a brief caesura.

Peter was the one who started to laugh.

--

Gabriel stepped out from the Petrelli study as a new man. Not Sylar, still Gabriel Gray, but something felt different. It was as if he only knew himself for the first time.

And for the first time, he felt blessed.

When Virginia died, he thought that he would forever be alone and unloved. How wrong he was, and how happy he was to be proven wrong.

There was Claire.

And she was here, standing right in front of him, waiting for him. Convincing him entirely that God was trying to show him a sign. How foolish of him to turn her away when they first met. But then again, it had always been his initial reaction towards people in general. How was he to discern from that unceremonious first meeting that she was anomalous?

Anomalous, but analogous.

And then, there was the radical revolution she had roused from within him. Slow, but radical. The paradox managed to amuse him for a while, before he realized that the whole excursion – starting from them being neighbours, to the walks and photographs in their Secret Garden, to the events that had occurred in New York; all of them had been a complex chain of events that would prepare him – for this.

He didn't need these powers. So maybe he did dream about obtaining special abilities once in a while. To be significant; appreciated. None of it mattered anymore, not when he finally understood Claire. It was his acceptance of this knowledge that had saved him from entering an unchartered, malevolent paradigm. Instead of a dire necessity, having abilities suddenly became some sort of a bonus for him.

He didn't need anything else.

He didn't even need to know the identity of the person who might have gone back in time in order to make this new life; this new timeline a reality. He wasn't complacent, far from it. But if there was any lesson he had learnt so far, it was to be content with what he had. Everyone is something, no one is everything. If he procured something extra, then it's a blessing.

A blessing.

There was Claire, and she was here. Standing right in front of him, eagerly waiting for him, because she cared for him.

Because she loved him.

So this was how it feels to be loved by someone.

_A blessing._

"What happened in there?" she asked worriedly, her eyes darkened into a mossy green.

Gabriel felt congenial enough to keep the conversation as lighthearted as possible. "I believe Hiro Nakamura is going to complete my triumvirate of geekery, which will also include Dr. Suresh," he tipped his head from side to side. "Which is another way of saying that it went...well. Lamentably, he did not know about the comic books until we told him. However, I absolutely believe that this is going to be his best Christmas ever," his mouth curved into a roguish grin.

"And...this is where I should ask why," Claire narrowed her eyes and folded her arms across her chest.

"Well," he rubbed his hands together, "Peter and I decided to give the entire collection of 9th Wonders to him as a Christmas present. You should have seen the elation on his face, which was intriguing. In addition, he is not going to sue the publishers," Gabriel keenly elucidated.

"There's something you're not telling me."

"Claire," his grin faltered as his expression scrunched in what could only be a nose tickle, "Hiro Nakamura does not have requisite information for me to continue with my investigation. In theory, I should be devastated. But I am not, fortunately," he pinched his nose and sniffed. "I may be able to speculate the actual identity of the responsible individual but...to pursue him would be unsound."

She gave him a disenchanted look. "You're just going to give up like that?"

"No," he contradicted carefully, "It is just that I have found a more crucial issue to deal with presently."

Her brows rose up the way his would as she asked, "And the crucial issue would be...?"

"I was wondering if you would like to dance with me," he held out his hand and smiled widely, because he could. "Please say yes?" he let his teeth slide down his bottom lip, before breaking into an ecstatic simper.

"Hell yeah," she accepted his hand, before being led to the dance floor. The big band hired by Angela was playing Winter Wonderland in the background.

"You sure about this?" she giggled, as they began with the promenade position and swayed naturally to the music, amidst the dancing crowd. Oddly, they were the only young couple on the floor. "Are you inebriated?"

A beat passed. And another.

And another.

Gabriel was leading fairly well on this occasion. He might have sucked at it before, but when it really mattered, he managed to deliver. _Slow, slow, quick-quick slow, walk and twirl._ He didn't answer her question with a definite 'yes' or 'no'. Instead, he supplied an innocent, "I might have consumed a good glass of pinot from your father's study," and smirked.

The man had the impudence to _smirk._

Claire caught Nathan's eyes as he watched his daughter graced the dance floor with a sense of pride, Angela standing right beside him. Peter was nowhere to be seen, as always. When Nathan took Angela to the floor to join them, with a dazzling million-dollar-smile on his face, Claire tried to hide her own smile behind Gabriel's shoulder. This happiness was genuine. It wasn't made-believe, it wasn't forged.

Somewhere in the middle of White Christmas, Nathan cut in to dance with her. Gabriel was more than pleased to trade, thus attaining the honour of dancing with Angela. From the corner of her eyes, Claire saw Angela whispering something into Gabriel's ear, which was met with impassivity. Then his eyes narrowed, then he nodded, and then he smiled.

Claire swore he mouthed a 'thank you' to Angela.

Somewhere on the dance floor, Hiro Nakamura was dancing with Elle Bishop.

--

"Claire, I'd like you to meet Elle Bishop," Angela said curtly. "Elle," she turned, "this is my granddaughter. Claire."

"Hi," the perky blonde in blue greeted Claire, "nice to have finally met you."

Claire tried to smile but ended up drawing a sharp intake of breath. "Likewise."

"Her father is a business associate of mine. And now Elle is working for him," Angela explained, which did nothing to resolve the building tension. Claire knew that she shouldn't judge Elle just by what Gabriel and Peter had told her, but she couldn't brush the stigma off just yet.

"I heard that you went to Columbia," Claire asked, the query coated with subtle provocation.

Elle's smile faded. "Uh, yeah," her gaze shifted nervously between Angela and Claire, "but that was for a while. I graduated from NYU."

Claire was about to come up with a witty reply when Peter emerged from...somewhere, with Gabriel towering behind him like a sentinel. "Elle," Peter acknowledged the lady in question, before Gabriel added a "Miss Bishop," with a bored, dispassionate tone.

Elle's eyes opened like wide-diameter saucers. "Gabriel Gray?"

Gabriel directed a smug smile at Claire, to which she responded by glancing back in amusement. "I am glad to know that you still remember me," he replied charily. Elle stared at him in disbelief, unconsciously pointing her finger between Peter, Gabriel and Claire. "You guys know each other?"

"She's my niece," Peter shrugged at Claire, who automatically replied with a "He's my uncle."

"And Gabriel is a very good friend of ours," Peter slung one arm around Gabriel's shoulder from one side, while Claire grasped Gabriel's hand in the other, leaving him sandwiched in the middle. Elle caught Peter's message clearly – 'Do not mess with this guy or we'll mess with you', and she certainly had seen Claire dance with a mysterious male earlier in the evening. Elle would never have guessed in a thousand eons that Gabriel Gray of Queens, New York would be _the_ guy.

"Wow," Elle tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I sure didn't expect this but," she smiled earnestly, "it's a nice surprise. You sure have come a long way." There was poignancy in Elle's tone, a sense of yearning. Her eyes glistened. At that point, Claire saw something in Elle that reflected her old self, before she came on terms with accepting change.

Feeling trapped. Alone. Confused.

_Used._

Gabriel had indeed come a long way. From a nerd in New York, to a suitor of Nathan Petrelli's daughter.

"Yes, he has," Angela was the first to comment, surprising everyone including Elle. The Petrelli matron's expression twisted into a magnanimous smile.

An uninvited guest watched this exchange discreetly from a distance, chuckling to himself as he lurked among the other guests undetected. "Yes, I have," he said to no one in particular, before exiting the Petrelli mansion and disappeared into the night, presumably back to whence he came from.

--

By the time all guests were ushered home, Gabriel was already seated at the bottom of the stairs, resting his head upon the metal railings and yawned sleepily. He was slowly dozing off, the charged energy that had pushed him to warp drive slowly wafting away. In only a few minutes, his eyes were shut tight and his body limped. Not even the whirring of workers cleaning up the house could stir him to consciousness.

Gabriel fell asleep.

He was unaware of Claire whooshing up the stairs regardless of her Dior dress, in a hasty attempt to obtain her camera from her room. He was unaware of Claire clicking the capture button right when he yawned unconsciously for the second time.

"Hey, wake up," she nudged him after twenty quality photos or so. "Gabriel," she whispered as she massaged his earlobe, blowing cool air into his ear. Immediately, he tilted his head and opened one eye to look at her, an unintelligible rumble escaped his throat. "How long have I slept here?" he mumbled before snapping his head to the right, a sharp 'crack' sound was audible from the sudden movement. "Oww," his face contorted from the pain. Claire helped him up, and even through his half-lidded gaze he noticed the camera. "What is that for?" he observed in puzzlement.

Claire knew she couldn't lie, but she didn't exactly say the truth either. "Took a couple of photos while you were sleeping," she grinned. "C'mon, you look so tired. I need to get out of this dress, too." Gabriel rubbed his eyes with his knuckles and blinked several times to clear his vision, before offering to walk her up to her room. She argued that he was exhausted and he should rest, but he was trying to be all gentlemanly to round up a gentlemanly evening, so she relented.

"Good night, Claire," he said as soon as they reached her door. "I'm sorry that we couldn't resume our Scrabble game. Perhaps tomorrow would be a more appropriate time, when our minds are fully refreshed?"

She nodded in silent agreement as she entered her room, leaving him standing awkwardly at the doorframe, with pursed lips and doing his little nervous hand wave. "Good night, Gabriel," her breath puffed labouredly when she closed the door with a loud click.

No good night kiss; no nothing. This was not the way the night was supposed to end, she thought, as she slid down against the door feeling completely defeated.

And then she heard it. His voice. Faint, faraway, but not fallacious. In reality, he was talking to her door.

"I love you."

She didn't even have to think twice about this one. To be honest, she didn't even think.

She just _did_.

The next thing she knew, she had yanked Gabriel's tie first and foremost, to pull him inside the room. Rough. Demanding. There was no grace in their movements; this was nothing like the rehearsed foxtrot they had danced at the ball. Maybe tomorrow morning they would blame the alcohol, despite knowing fully that they weren't even close to being tipsy. Blame the placebo effect of alcohol, then.

Claire felt like she was at her high school bonfire night again, when that bastard Brody tried to move past second base – except that this time she was the initiator. This was no West, no Alex, no Ian – how could they even compare to Gabriel?

Her sweet, geeky, dangerous, intelligent Gabriel.

With his tie still wrapped around her left fist, she pulled him down for a searing kiss, one that matched the colour of her lips or the simmering heat of their pulsating blood. The room was chilly, and her fingers were cold. It didn't stop her from expertly unbuttoning his shirt and lifting his collars up without breaking the kiss, which was getting sloppier by the minute. None of them cared. This was no time for aesthetics.

When the last button popped open, Gabriel's shirt was dropped haphazardly onto the floor, leaving the loosely-knotted tie still hanging from his neck, the tip swinging like a pendulum against his navel. It was a mouth-watering sight Claire would never forget.

They were like a pair of adolescents, in some twisted game of Seven Minutes in Heaven. How ironic, considering the fact that they were given a whole lifetime. She didn't even realize that Gabriel had telekinetically removed the pins from her chignon, letting her hair cascade in a glorious golden tumble. He was sucking fervently on her bottom lip now, and she was craning her neck to receive more. As if he could sense her shortcoming, he easily lifted her up as if she was a feather, and treated her gingerly so. She found herself floating in the air, as he flicked a finger to place her right in the centre of the bed. Strategically comforting too, because she fell right on a heap of fluffy pink pillows. _'Wingardium Leviosa,'_ she thought, but no. This wasn't magic.

This was telekinesis, Gabriel style.

He stood at the foot of the bed, studying her as if she was part of a stimulating experimentation. Undressing her with his intense eyes. His pupils were dilated, making them look more molten black than warm chocolate. In fact, he was undressing her without so much of laying a finger. His unclasped trousers hung dangerously low at his hips – a cruel distraction from the strange sensation he was granting her, as he swaggered (since when did he swagger?) towards the bedside.

His eyes told her that he wanted her, but he didn't know where to begin. So eager, but still inexperienced. He blinked bashfully, reminding her that there were two temperamental sides of him – one that had wanted to dominate and devour her senseless, and then there was the logical, inquisitive, shy side. Leaning forward, she tugged at his tie and nipped at his jaw, down to his neckline, refastening her mouth to his hot skin.

"I don't love you. I'll never..." she swallowed, "...love you."

A flood of quivers washed over him, his eyelids fluttered involuntarily.

_Claire. Lied. Again. _

Gabriel half-expected to hear another lie, another statement that would make him tremble in the throes of treachery.

"I heard what you told me when you thought I was asleep. And Gabriel?" her breath ghosted on his skin, "I love you too. I _love_ you."

No tingle this time. No buzz. Just the soothing sound of a clock ticking one quarter of a second faster in the background.

"I need you," was his aptly eloquent reply. Shifting into gear, the two sides of Gabriel merged into one as he began to respond to her furious onslaught. Hands travelled everywhere – caressing, groping, tentatively, aggressively. Exploring each curve, studying reactions, optimising the data -- perfecting the procedure for future reference.

In the afterglow, Claire slid her right palm over his taut chest and felt his heartbeat scream _'you're mine, mine, mine.' _Gabriel reciprocated the action by placing a calloused hand over her heart, recognizing its language instantly – each desperate leap meant _'i'm yours, yours, yours.'_

No other words could ring truer than this.

_Magic_ did happen.

_to be continued..._

* * *

A/N: Thank you guys, for everything. I really dunno what else to say.

Oh, and sorry if Hiro didn't sound like he should. I, um, yeah. I tried. ;p

(shit. the next chapter is the last.)


	15. Chapter 15

_Sorry for the delayed update, guys. I've been caught up with RL stuff (and going back to school never brings a good feeling after a three-month holiday). This is it. The final chapter. Yup._

* * *

Chapter 15

"I won!" Claire's arms lifted in the air as soon as she finished rounding up her Scrabble scores.

"Indeed you did," came the misleadingly solemn reply. "Felicitations," he added in sincerity, before carelessly letting his head hit the pillows and looked up at Claire. She set the paper and pencil on the nightstand before crawling back on the bed next to Gabriel, hovering over him with a cynical expression etched on her face. "You didn't let me win on purpose, did you?"

He lifted one arm above his head and reached out with another to touch Claire's face. "Why would I?" he snickered. "You've proven to be the better player. I did not see 'crwth' coming. That word won the game for you."

Strands of Claire's hair fell from her face, the tips tickling Gabriel's cheeks. "You know what this means, right?" she raised one eyebrow, which caused him to do the same. "Yes, I do. I will have to make breakfast tomorrow. Waffles for Wednesdays," he grinned sheepishly, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He closed his eyes then, letting his vision fade to black, with occasional stripes of green and circles of yellow popping by to say hello. He did not see Claire studying his serene features while he drifted to a light sleep. A question from Claire made his eyelids flutter open.

"Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?"

His surprise was obvious. In his eyes, on his face, from his body language. "Are you feverish?"

She immediately threw her head back and laughed. "No. No I'm not," she shook her head as she wiped unexpected tears pooling in her eyes. "I just can't believe that this is really, really happening, you know? Me, you, this baby in my belly..."

He slid up and rested his back on the headboard, chuckling. "You mean, Noah."

Claire giggled again, just when she thought she had stopped laughing. "Yeah," she sniffed. "_Noah._ I can't believe that you agreed with that name. I'm barely into my second trimester." There was invisible weight in her words, like the toll of a thousand bells, perceptively reminding them of their future responsibilities.

The laughter and sheepish grins were gone now, leaving an air of heavy anticipation.

"I just can't help but think about how lucky we are, you know? I mean, look at where we started five years ago. You were a Research Director at MIT. I was a Harvard law student," Claire reminisced, sliding her fingers between his, completing a perfect puzzle. "Look at where we're now. We're a pair of secret agents, trying to find people like us. Saving them from themselves, saving lives...saving the world."

He brought their joined hands to his mouth, his thumb toying with the cold metal encircling her ring finger and fiddled with the rock connected to it. "For a second there you sound exactly like Peter," he kissed the back of her hand. "Your fathers. Nathan and Noah. They are doing wonderfully at keeping the peace between people like us and the normal people out there. The social stigma will remain for now and that is inevitable, but in time, who knows. Maybe you and I? We will live long enough to see a change," he declared before unclasping their hands, only to pepper more kisses on the pads of her fingers, on the crease of her palm. "But it has to begin here. Who else could move it forward if not the President himself?"

She drew in a deep breath, both from his words and from the attention he was giving to her small, but highly sensitive hand. "My dad," she gulped as his mouth moved southwards to her wrist and sucked the skin where her radial pulse was located.

"I can't stop thinking about Stephen Canfield," she blurted suddenly. Talk about timing and turn-offs. Flabbergasted, Gabriel lifted his head up and perplexedly stared at her. "The man we brought in today for vacuuming his neighbour into a vortex after a fight over a lawnmower," he summarised, without even stopping for breath.

"He didn't mean to do it," she defended. "It was an accident. He didn't know how to control his ability yet."

"I know."

"Do you think they'll let him go?"

"It's up to Noah _and or_ Angela now, is it not?"

"Do you think _we_ can convince them to let him go? Stephen Canfield is not a murderer," she argued, her eyes widened with hope.

Gabriel bit his lip. "Technically he _is_ a murderer, but I see your point."

"It's just that he's got no one to talk it through with. He's alone and confused and shunned...he doesn't have what we have. He deserves better, a family who understands," Claire's back straightened, driving her point home with full focus.

Gabriel mulled over a new train of thought, one that had been clawing at him since the Canfield takeout. "When I grabbed him; touched him, I could feel his sorrow..." he confessed, "...his regret after killing an innocent man. Somehow that feeling was oddly familiar to me, although I have never experienced it directly." His gaze was so intense; it could set her off on a blaze of wildfire.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked.

"Claire," he ran a hand through his hair, "If I were a murderer with that same amount of regret and shame and guilt...if not more, would you still accept me? Would you forgive me the way you forgave Stephen Canfield?"

"Well, have you murdered someone?" Even Claire was surprised at her own nonchalance, but Gabriel's 'what the heck?' look negated it all.

A big, fat, _no._

She had never missed seeing Gabriel in action – she was his partner, and he had never taken a life in front of her. Various villainous, uncooperative fugitives who had misused their abilities for vice were tossed to the walls like flies, before being left in a locked-in state – all thanks to Gabriel's overpowering telekinetic ability. There was always a hunger in him to figure out how different abilities work, but that was always obtained without shedding any blood. Even then, he rarely ever did it unless he really needed to.

"Probably I would. But only if you don't try to kill me first," she finally answered, earning her a weak smile from him. It was her turn to stare. "Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked back.

She shrugged. "No, it's just that...ever since my grandma fed you with that woman's ability – what's her name?"

"Bridget?"

"Bridget's ability–"

"_Clair_sentience—," he offered, before she snorted –

"I like the way the word feels on my tongue. Sorry," he forced himself not to leer lasciviously.

"Too bad the word is too long for Scrabble?"

"Yes. Um," he awkwardly gazed skywards, before losing himself in an unassailable grin. "You were saying?"

Claire chortled again, breathing hard and becoming red-faced before she could convey her thoughts eloquently. Once she pulled herself together, they became gravely serious again. "You've become more sensitive to everything that you touch," she sighed. "To your environment...and it isn't just some cerebral process anymore, it's...something else."

"You do not like it," he attested.

"No. I love it! I do. I just wonder what's going in your head when you touch stuff. You become so absorbed and intent and full of concentration."

"I'm touching your shirt now," Gabriel told her as a hand slid up her clothed back, caressing down her spine, giving her a delicious chill. "Do you want to know what's going on in my head?"

Her breath caught. She didn't expect him to be sneakily subversive in a split second. "Yes, please."

"A myriad of salacious, indecent things involving you and me. I do not even know where to begin," he groaned and nipped at the tip of her ear.

"I can imagine," was all she could manage, albeit shakily. His hand slid under her shirt to finally connect with her skin, and he gasped. "What's that telling you?"

"It remembers the first time I touched you here," he replied hazily, his fingertips tracing – no, counting her ribs from the bottom up. Then a pause, when he succeeded in palpating her apex beat under the swell of her right breast. "Here it yearns to be touched again," he quipped, while his left hand travelled to her the flat of her stomach.

"Oh," he breathed.

"What? Why?" she panicked.

"I think little Noah here is impatient to wait for another five months," he smirked as he continued to rub her tummy in circles, feeling bold enough to dip one, maybe two teasing fingers under the waistband of her sweatpants.

"Really?"

"Have I ever lied to you, Claire?"

She shook her head diffidently before his fingers reached up to her chin, gently parting her lips with his thumb. By instinct, she closed her mouth around his thumb as her tongue flicked across the pad of his thumb, biting slightly with her teeth and sucked fervently on the digit as if she was a toddler. Her lips parted again as she drew in breath, while Gabriel finally found his voice.

"So many others had kissed you here. But those were all faint, irrelevant memories," he growled as she began to kiss the tips of each finger, deliberately taking her time with each one. "There's only–,"

"...you," she finished for him. No tingle. He didn't need the lie-detecting ability to know it was true. He could feel it crawling under his skin, and the sensation was not a negative one. When his lips touched hers, it sealed everything.

_As long as we stay together, we're untouchable. You and I. _

"Hey, Claire. Look at where we are now," he murmured between kisses. "We're together."

_Us._

--

Gabriel woke up particularly early the next morning, all because of the waffles. Claire was still sound asleep when he finished showering and today was their day off. Life was certainly different after leaving Massachusetts. From a 9-to-5 man at MIT, he was now one of the Company's top agents – up there along with Peter and Claire – because they were simply indispensable.

It was rather jocular that he and Peter were indeed destined to become interrogators for the Company.

Months after leaving MIT, Suresh followed suit. Not recruited as a field agent per se, but as a scientist who was given the primary responsibility to find a cure to eliminate abilities from those who didn't want them. His resolve was probably strengthened by the fact that Maya Herrera was one of those people.

Then there had been the Noah Bennet conundrum three years ago. Noah's confession that he had known all along about people with abilities and Claire's imminent 'immortality' was not received well. "That was how you survived the fire," Noah had said. He had kept it a secret because Angela had asked him to. Claire went on a rebellious rampage for a while, which was also the crucial event that had determined her career path – she was done with being led around like a dumb sheep; that for once she wanted to be a wolf. Go straight in for the kill.

It was her idea of getting back at Angela and Noah, whose initial intentions were only to protect her. Claire had declared an ultimatum – one which was delivered with such rampant tenacity that neither Noah nor Angela could rebuff. Claire wanted to leave her mundane life as a mundane attorney and join Peter and Gabriel. Either that, or join Hiro and Ando in Japan, running off across Asia like some kind of a reckless renegade.

Claire had sported a brunette look for two months just to distinguish herself from Elle. She dyed her hair back to blonde after her third assignment; after her anger had dissipated. Seeing other people with abilities had that effect on her - making her sit down and think and not make rash decisions. A most recent example would be the Stephen Canfield case, of course.

Gabriel walked downstairs to the kitchen, catching a glimpse of a framed photo – the one where he yawned at the Petrelli Christmas event. He chuckled at it still, even now. The photo he took of Claire with the squirrels was framed next to it. How apt.

Harold was already up at such an ungodly hour, which was a curious behaviour. Nuzzling his nose at Gabriel's feet, the cat looked up at him as though he was confused. And then Harold sped off frantically out from the kitchen, probably to go hide under the sofa somewhere in the living room. He even knocked down his milk bowl, bless his soul.

Gabriel twirled around to the counter.

And then he saw it.

A broken watch on the kitchen top.

_Sylar._

Instinctively, Gabriel closed his eyes and clenched his fists in a self-punishing grip. He opened his eyes again and saw the timepiece still sitting stubbornly, as dead as the clock hands were too paralysed to move.

This would be the final test then, if he were really to be tested. Everything he had been through, it was for this moment. It would be the final answer that he needed to resolve his inner turmoil. So he reached out and touched it without hesitance.

As simple as that.

The images that were strewn on the floor of his mind were nothing like he'd ever seen before. He had imagined it before, in Technicolor, but the visual feed received from his clairsentience ability was more vivid.

Blood. Brains.

The Oval Office.

Torture. Screams.

Mohinder on the ceiling.

Peter going nuclear at Kirby Plaza.

Angela Petrelli claiming to be his mother.

The noise Nathan made when his throat was slit.

Noah Bennet standing against a wall with a large '5' painted on it.

Claire in a cheerleader outfit, running for her life on her homecoming night.

Claire on the carpeted floor, her skull cap gone. A pair of hands – his hands, probing her exposed brain.

Claire next to him as he enjoyed a glass of pinot; sharing an insightful conversation about what they'd like to do to each other.

Claire hated him.

_But that was another life. _

"Gabriel?" Her voice gave him a startle. It seemed that she just came out from the shower. Her wet hair was plastered on the sides of her face, making her look as if someone had just poured golden syrup over her head. Clutching the broken watch in his fist, he managed a smile. "Good morning, Claire."

"Morning. How are the waffles coming?" she winked.

"Just about to make them," he replied. "You are proving to be rather impatient."

Claire made a face as if she was hurt, before responding with an "I'm curious about your masterful culinary skills, Mr Gray."

This time, Gabriel's smile was genuine. "Would you like to see the chef at work then, Mrs Gray?" he asked as he began to put on his apron.

"Yes please, Mr Gray," she grinned as she took a seat at the counter. Gabriel did not move an inch from where he was standing. Instead, he stood there in that apron and gazed at her, a quaint smile decorating his face.

"Claire, I have something to tell you."

She stared back, worried.

"I love you, Claire." It was easier this time around. Natural. He meant every word. Spoken with real emotion.

Claire blinked. Several congruent heartbeats shared between the two of them before she finally spoke. "I love you too, Gabriel. I want to spend forever with you."

That was all he needed to hear before crushing the watch in a merciless grip, destroying every last memory it held of Sylar. It was the best decision he'd ever made.

In another life, in another time, Sylar may exist. In this one, he was _nothing_ but Gabriel Gray.

But he had everything.

_Thank you, Sylar. Wherever you are. _

--

Sylar touched his now naked wrist; a distinct, paler stripe was visible on an otherwise pale-enough left arm. "Don't thank me," he shrugged. "Thank yourself," he murmured to himself, before kneeling down to coax a creature from hiding under the table. "Right, Mr. Muggles?" The fuzzy dog barked in agreement. Harold rumbled from underneath the Pomeranian, clawing at the larger mammal in a sense of camaraderie.

Claire was all smiles and sweet, with a sunny disposition -- a far cry from the Claire he left in the other future. A fair-haired boy held her hand as they made their way down the stairs, enthusiastically screaming, "Dad! You're home!"

"Where'd you go, Gabriel?" she asked worriedly. "We missed you."

Something tugged in Sylar's heart, an intangible feeling he had never experienced before. But it felt oddly familiar. As if he had harboured this feeling for years, although it was his first chance at living in this new reality.

_Love._

He knelt down to hug Noah and received a surprise kiss on his cheek, before ruffling the boy's hair. Even these movements were perfectly coordinated; part of an everyday routine he would never be bored of. Overwhelmed, he stood up again and pulled Claire tenderly into his arms, breathing in the soft scent of her hair.

"I've always been here, Claire," he murmured. "Always will be."

Claire hugged him back, before pulling him down for a kiss.

His life was finally complete, this way.

_Love will stay. _

_-end-_

_

* * *

_A/N: Yes, folks. That's the end of this fic. Thank you for your support for all this while. I wouldn't have been able to finish this without you cheering me on. I hope I'll be able to write more Sylar/Claire or Gabriel/Claire from now on. I've got a plot bunny in mind (which could be pretty much a sequel to a one-shot fic of mine, titled The Fatal Flaw), but RL stuff _always_ gets in the way and it depresses me.

Anyway. Enough with the rant. I hope you'll like this ending. Um. Yeah. It's a bit short (the shortest chapter in the whole fic, in fact), but, eh. I think it's about the right length. :)

See you next time, then?


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